


Synthesize

by hubflower



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Not that slow of a burn, Post-Canon, Self-Acceptance, Slow Burn, Synths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubflower/pseuds/hubflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Institute is brought down by the Minutemen, and the General Veronica returns from her latest case with Nick Valentine, life around Sanctuary starts to become whole.  That is, until Sturges starts wondering about his identity.  This query sparks an adventure for Veronica and Sturges, who rarely adventures out of his workshop.</p><p>Will finding out who he is, however, change who he is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fuel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are new to this story, please enjoy! I hope you like it as much as I'm loving writing it. Never hesitate to leave constructive criticism, as I'm always open to growing as a writer!

The late afternoon light streamed in through the eastern facing window of her office. It was a lazy, orange-pink light signalling the coming sunset. In its beams, it spotlighted a flurry of slowly dancing dust particles, which in the post-apocalyptic world were impossible to eliminate, much to Codsworth's dismay. Veronica pushed away from the desk, stretching her legs out under the desk and her arms up above her head.

The simple movement felt so good after hours of doing planning and paperwork for the Minutemen Settlement Network (MSN, or Net for short). With the end of winter and start of spring, they were working to open the trade routes back up, and so each settlement needed to start preparing their assigned goods. For Sanctuary, this meant maintaining the water pumps and filling plastic water containers to send with the caravan.  The wait, however, also meant a few more weeks of struggling with strained resources, as the settlements relied on the trade caravans to bring crops, meats, textiles, and munitions from other settlements.  Veronica sighed and ran her hands through her hair in frustration.  These circumstances also meant that all of the other settlements were struggling with the remains of their purified water supply.  Worried for her settlers around the Commonwealth, she was seriously starting to consider a solo mission along the trade route with as much water as she could carry in her Power Armor, just to help everyone survive the next few weeks.

Readjusting her General's tricorn and scooting closer to her desk, she began to pore over inventory documents and trade schedules, hoping a solution would manifest itself between the hastily scribbled lines.  While she wasn't typically one for advertising her leadership, considering herself to be true equals with all settlers within the Net, today she was definitely glad Preston had insisted upon her having a private office to work out of, with few distractions.  Her makeshift office had been fashioned in one of the bedrooms of an old Sanctuary home, the very same that bore all of the town's workshop benches. The other bedroom in the home was made into Preston's office. Together, they worked to keep the Net united, with Veronica handling the goods and services portion, and Preston handing overall defense and domestic disputes.  Within this Sanctuary self-proclaimed Headquarters, Codsworth worked hard to make the living room comfortable and presentable, as it was often used as a waiting area for anyone needing to see either Veronica or Preston.  Codsworth helped Veronica to keep some semblance of a schedule, or else she would work herself to death hearing out every complaint in the Commonwealth.  Curie had taken over the kitchen area for scientific research, and was close to developing a chemical that would purify the water without a need for mechanical purifiers.  Veronica had a selfish wish that she wouldn't finish it, because she greatly enjoyed having her bubbly, vivacious _ami_ around.  

All in all, for a post-apocalyptic society, it was surprisingly organized.

A rap at her office's doorframe caused Veronica to look up from her desk so suddenly that her tricorn was nearly tossed off the back of her head. She smiled genuinely as she saw that it was Sturges, whose farmer's build took up practically the entire entrance. He had been working tirelessly on getting the pumps prepared for when the river thawed, and his customary overalls were covered in a thich tar-black substance, that Veronica could only assume, and hope, was grease. Veronica gestured for him to come in and take a seat in the chair across from her desk. She always believed in having an open-door policy with all of the residents, but even still, she could never turn away Sturges' charming accent and boyish grin.

"Busy afternoon, huh?" Sturges grinned as he propped his muddy boots up on the desk and crossed his soot-flecked arms. Out of all of her residents and Minutemen, Sturges was the only one who seemed to be able to get right to the point, without coming off as harsh.  

Veronica sighed, setting her hat on the desk and running her hands through her pixie cut. "Definitely," she groaned, "Just your average day of trying to save the Commonwealth." He flashed that famous grin of his and she grabbed two beers from a case beside her desk. She'd long become accustomed to warm beer. Walking around the desk, she sat in the chair next to Sturges and propped her feet onto the desk next to his. Without the need for a single word, she handed him the beers and using the clasps of his overalls, he popped them both open and handed her one. A few moments passed in comfortable silence as they enjoyed their drinks.

"So... what exactly has you so messy today?" Veronica asked jokingly, looking the mechanic up and down. She knew the older women who took care of Sanctuary's laundry in the river were constantly inventing new ways to remove the various stains from his clothing. 

"Well, if you  _must_ ask... and I was hopin' you would," he rebutted, "I was testin' out one of the older water purifiers and it was just makin' a real racket.  Sounded like it was gonna explode if I didn't shut it off.  I'm surprised you didn't hear it all the way in here!  Anyway, I started taking it apart, as usual, and the oil pump just crumbled into pieces... as usual."

"And uh... that's  _supposed_ to happen?" Veronica teased.  Sturges scoffed, playfully hurt, and said, "Of course it is!  How else is the oil supposed to get all over the equipment... and the mechanic?"  They both laughed.  Veronica noticed a smudge of oil on his nose.  She licked her thumb and went to smear it off, her maternal instinct having stayed even though her son was gone.  Sturges blocked her incoming hand with his palms, "Okay, yeesh!  I'll go clean up,  _Mom_ ," he quipped.  Veronica watched as he sauntered out of the room to the bathroom down the hall.  Leaning back in the chair, she took a deep breath, glad to be putting an end to such a stressful day.

Typically, after work, Veronica had a pretty boring, albeit lonely, evening.  She'd put her tricorn on it's peg in her office, straighten up, and lock the door behind her.  She'd make pleasantries with the rest of the crew as she left the Headquarters, if they were even still there.  Then, she'd grab her wash items from her home at the end of the street and head to the secluded part of the river for her assigned bathing time.  After that, she'd go through the meal line and have whatever dinner the cooking crew had managed that day.  This would all typically be capped off with a glass of whiskey back in her home before falling asleep while reading a book.  

Stressful days like this day had been made Veronica long for companionship.  She, of course, had no shortage of friends across the Commonwealth. Some, like Nick and John, had even become incredibly close friends, and were mentors through her acceptance of this new life.  What Veronica missed, however, were the comfortable silences, the shared routines, the unspoken understandings.  She missed having someone to cook dinner for and share a meal with.  She missed having someone to talk to about her day with.  She missed having someone to curl up with on cold nights and wake up to on sunny mornings.  She missed _love_.  Not the fiery, "can't keep your hands to yourself" love, though.  That was something reserved for blossoming teenagers and newlywed brides.  No, she missed that true companionate love, like what she had had with Nate.  Like they always did, Veronica's eyes grew misty at the thought of Nate.  His eyes that pierced through soul, his arms that held her when she cried, and his kiss that always left her ready for more.

"Hey, now, you alright?" Veronica looked up, startled out of her memories, to see dark brown eyes starting intently at her. A heavy, comforting hand was delicately laid on her knee. She had a hard time keeping her composure, but managed to rub her eyes with the backs of her hands and take a deep inhale. With a shuddering exhale, she explained, "You know it's been almost two years, but I just, I still miss him." Tears threatened to roll down her cheeks, and her head was throbbing like a dam holding back a rushing river. The hand squeezed her knee. "General... er... Veronica, you're allowed to cry you know. It's just me," he said with a dry chuckle.

That was the blow that broke the floodgates. Veronica leaned back in the chair and sobbed. She sobbed for Nate. She sobbed for her son. She sobbed for the stressful new life she had found herself in. She sobbed for the leadership that had been pressed upon her. Pulling her feet from off the desk, she leaned her head between her knees, hugging her body, trying to keep herself from completely falling apart.

Sturges stood back up, shifting nervously from foot to foot.  A faint, concerned "General?" came from Preston's office.  Sturges knew what he had to do.

"Nope, you're not gonna do this.  Not here anyway.  You don't need that kinda attention on you right now.  C'mere," and as if she were no heavier than a child, he picked her up into his arms, one under her knees and another under her arms and swiftly started walking out.  He ignored the questioning looks from settlers as he made his way with their crying General out of Sanctuary, across the bridge, and towards the Red Rocket.  Veronica clutched onto his overall straps and buried her head into his shirt as sobs wracked her body.

"Almost there," he puffed as they rounded the corner to the abandoned gas station that was also Sturges' home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a ton of editing and revising for clarity and flow, so if you've read this chapter before, let me know if you like the changes!


	2. Spark

As they entered the abandoned gas station, the comforting smell of grease and rubber filled Veronica's senses. It reminded her of afternoons with her father fixing the old Corvega in the driveway on lazy weekend afternoons.  In reality, she would just play with her dolls in the garage as he cursed over cracked radiators, but he never failed to remind her that she was being a huge help.

"Alright, hang on," Sturges said as he used the arm that was once supporting her back to fumble for his keys. Veronica gripped around his neck to keep herself from falling, and for a brief second wondered what it'd be like to lay her head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. As quickly as the thought had come, though, it quickly left as Sturges unlocked the door between the convenience mart and the garage, which he had converted into a makeshift apartment. Stumbling into the dark garage, Sturges gently sat Veronica on an old couch and went across the room to fiddle with the electricity switch, and soon the room was illuminated by rows of Christmas lights lining the ceiling and walls.

Sturges ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair and turned back towards Veronica, who was staring up in surprise at the tiny lights.  Ever since they started salvaging larger light fixtures for the settlement homes, the small, low-light Christmas lights had been abandoned.  "Nobody seemed to want these little lights, so I figured I'd fix 'em and give 'em a home. Not the best light, I suppose." Veronica found herself entranced by the twinkling little lights. They reminded her of so many memories from before the bombs, of weddings and proms, of holidays and cozy bars. She whispered, "They're perfect."

With the renewed onslaught of memories, the tears, which had started to dry, started afresh, although with energy than before.  She squished into the corner of the old, ripped, stained couch and felt more tired, more lost, and more alone than she had since leaving the vault.  All she wanted to do was lay back on that couch, wrap up in a thick quilt, and sleep the pain away.  As tired as she felt though, she knew she needed to get back to Sanctuary, as the sun was probably close to completely set.  

"Look, Sturges, I'm really sorry about all of this mess. I'll just head back home. I'm sure you don't want me cramping your style," Veronica said as she stood and straightened her shirt, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes.

Sturges crossed the room in a few short strides and grabbed her shoulders, "Now you listen here, you're not goin' anyway, alright? If you waltz back on up there, people are gonna be all over ya asking questions and being concerned. Sounds nice, but I'm sure it's the last thing you want right now, right?" Veronica thought over his words, and she could picture it now.  As she walked the length of town to her house, the town would be in a strange hush, looking up from their work conspicuously to gawk at her. Whispers would close behind her once she was out of earshot. Rumors about why she was upset, and fears about her ability as a leader.  Worst of all, Veronica couldn't blame them.  Their fearless leader had fallen apart at the seams in her office, at a time when the entire Net needed her most.  Sturges was absolutely right, though.  Heading back home was the last thing she wanted or needed right now.

Veronica sighed and flopped back down onto the couch, letting her head rest on the back. Sturges smiled contentedly and walked towards an old toolbox. Pulling open a drawer, he pulled out a few items and walked back to the couch. Holding out his hands, he offered up a package of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes and a container Dandy Boy Apples. Veronica snagged the apples, opened the package, and started to dig in, not able to remember if she had even taken the time to eat something that day. Sitting down, Sturges opened the snack cakes and ate with her. "It doesn't beat Mama Murphy's radstag casserole, but it's better'n nothin'." They ate in silence, as Veronica tried to wrap her head around the past hour. She had gone from working on the next week's caravan manifests to sitting on Sturges' couch with tear stained cheeks.  Life in the Commonwealth was a roller coaster like that, sometimes, and Veronica just hadn't been able to buckle herself in like the hardened veterans around her.  

Thinking back to her time in her office, a thought hit her, and she was surprised she hadn't thought it sooner.

"Sturges, you had come to my office before... before all of _this_. Did you... need something?"

"What? I can't just come see my favorite General?" he asked with a smile.

"C'mon, Sturges, seriously. Let me get at least something accomplished today. Did you need something?" she pleaded.

"Well, there was somethin', but I really don't want to burden ya, Roni. It's kind of a doozy." Something in his gaze made Veronica uncomfortable. Something that told her that "doozy" was too light of a word for whatever it was that he needed.  

Ignoring the question mark across Veronica's face, Sturges stood up, brushed the crumbs off of his lap, and made towards another tool box.  From it, he procured a few blankets and pillows and started to make up the dilapidated mattress on the floor.  Veronica smiled to herself when she saw the poorly crocheted afghan she had made him for the settlement's Christmas Secret Santa.  She had introduced the concept from pre-war as a way to boost morale during the long and dreary winter, and it surprised her to see so many residents get into the spirit.  For weeks, she had scoured the nearby town of Concord for any and all fabric that wouldn't be able to be made into clothing or bedding.  Using her knife, she had cut the cloth into strips, and with those she had crocheted the large afghan with some hand-whittled hooks.  As a fellow maker, she knew Sturges would appreciate it, and it warmed her heart to see that he really did.

As he made up the bed, a worried thought ran through Veronica's mind.  There was only one bed, and two people.  Two people who, as far as Veronica knew, were just good friends.   _Hold on_ , she thought,  _are we_ sharing  _a bed?  Did I misinterpret where this was going?  Oh jeez, how do I make this not awkward?  I really don't want to ups-_

Sturges, as if hearing her internal thoughts, plopped a pillow and second blanket onto the couch with a knowing smirk. A mauve blush crept over Veronica's fair features at the though that he could read her so easily.  

"Well now, I'm goin' to be the proper gentleman, of course, and offer to take the bed tonight," he started, and continued when she gave a slightly miffed expression.  "That mattress is incredibly uncomfortable.  Seriously.  Even Dogmeat won't lay on it when he follows me down here.  I found this bad boy," indicating the couch, "out in Concord, and traded Preston for his assistance in bringing it up here.  Best sleep spot in the Commonwealth, I guarantee it."

"What'd you trade him for?" Veronica asked.

Sturges chuckled, "Well, how do you think he and Curie got so cozy?"  Veronica let out one big cough of a laugh, covering her mouth.  "You're kidding!  He told everyone that she practically begged him to go together with her!"

"He did, and that couch you're about to sleep on bought my silence.  Truth is, he doesn't have nearly the  _cojones_ that he wants everyone to think he has.  I ended up talking to Curie one day while we were at the Sanctuary headquarters, and basically just told her how he felt.  Lucky for him, she seemed to like him back, so she waltzed right into his office and talked to him about.  Now that French lady has got some serious spunk."  Veronica giggled at the thought of petite, sweet Curie asking the so-called tough, valiant Minuteman out on a date.

"Anyway," he continued, rubbing his neck, "I need to get out of these rags and into somethin' else so I can get these coveralls soakin'.  Laundry crew gave me some kind of powdery stuff to start soakin' my overalls in.  Some kinda combination of abraxo, Brahmin milk, and soap."  

Understanding, Veronica stood up and moved towards the door, "No worries!  I could probably use some fresh air anyway."  Sturges rolled his eyes and said with a grin, "You can find some, uh, 'fresh air', in the cash register outside."  

Closing the door behind her, Veronica wondered just how many settlers had caught on to her bad habit.  Sure enough, right outside the doorway, on the faded countertop, was an old cash register.  Clicking the mechanism, the drawer sprang forward with a clanging  _DING_ , revealing its contents - a worn pack of cigarettes and pack of matches.  She wiggled a cigarette from its carton and struck the match.  That first drag filled her lungs, and the nicotine rush added some clarity and organization to the thoughts spiraling around her.  Passing the short time, she walked around the gas station, remembering the first time she had seen it since leaving the Vault.  For awhile, it had been her very own place of refuge between missions, before  she permanently settled in Sanctuary with the Minutemen.  

After making a full circuit of the small building, she popped up onto the counter, leaning against the wall, working on the final drags of the cigarette.  Just in time, Sturges opened the doorway, standing meekly in a plain t-shirt and boxers, a slight blush of embarrassment across his face.  His oil-stained overalls were balled up in his arms.  "I put something on the couch for you to wear so you don't have to sleep in your work clothes.  I'll just go get these into the basin to soak.  Just holler when you're decent," he said as he walked behind the gas station, where Veronica had seen a large metal basin.  She stepped inside, shut the door, and looked towards the couch.  Sturges had left out one of his less stained t-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts.  Veronica quickly slipped out of her work clothes and folded them into a pile for tomorrow.  Then, she slipped on the clothes, fortunate that she was nearly a foot shorter than the mechanic.  The boxer shorts had the length of regular shorts on her legs.  She was grateful to be in something so comfortable, and his lingering smell of grease and musk on the t-shirt had something soothing about it.

Veronica walked back over to the door and opened it up.  Sturges was leaned against the counter, arms folded across his chest.  "Well, if I thought you were goin' to wear this outfit better than me, I woulda picked something else to wear," he quipped.  She stuck her tongue out at him playfully and walked back into the apartment as he followed and locked the various bolts on the door.  The General flopped down on the couch and wrapped herself in the offered blanket, enjoying the luxurious comfort of the couch.  Once she was settled, Sturges made his way across the room and with a flick of a switch, the light of the room disappeared.  Veronica heard him pad over to the mattress, stoop down, and pull the blanket over him.

"'Roni?"

"Yeah?"

"You alright?"

Veronica smiled in the dark, happy to have someone looking out for her, which was unusual these days.  "Yeah, much better.  Thanks a lot, Sturges.  Really.  I owe you one."

He laughed solemnly in the darkness.  "You say that now."

She rolled onto her side on the couch, facing the part of the darkness where he would have been laying, "Seriously, Sturges.  You really helped me out today.  What did you need?"

His pause seemed to last forever, and when he did reply, it was so quietly that Veronica wasn't even sure if she heard him correctly.

"I want to find out if I'm a synth."


	3. Transmission

The silence seemed to fill the room like a tangible substance.  Time seemed to crawl to a halt, although to be fair, Veronica was unaware of how much time had truly passed.  In the back of her mind, Veronica was still contemplating whether her ears had heard what they had, or whether the past year and a half had finally caused her to lose her mind.  She rolled onto her side and tried to convince herself that this was all a very vivid and very strange dream.  She tried to convince herself that she had fallen asleep at her desk in the Sanctuary Headquarters, and everything that had happened in the past few hours had been nothing but a piece of her imagination, including what Sturges just uttered into the milky darkness of the room.  Unfortunately for her, no amount of convincing would cover up the truth of the matter.  

A shuffling sound seemed to echo through the room as Sturges sat up on the mattress.  "Roni?  You there?"  There was anxiety in his voice, as if his words were drowning in the thick blackness of the room, searching for a life preserver.  Knowing she owed Shim for his gallant behavior this afternoon, Veronica threw him one.  "Sturges," she said thinly, "You're not a synth."  A moment passed.  Then, another.  Then, again, another.  

Finally, Sturges broke the silence, with as quiet a voice as his initial admission, "That's just the thing.  I don't  _know_." 

Veronica pondered that over, remembering the first time she entered Diamond City.  She had watched in horror and fascination as one brother murdered another, all because he  _thought_ his brother was a synth.  He didn't actually  _know._ Over the following few months of tracking Kellogg, Veronica learned that the only thing more dangerous than people thinking you were a synth, were people knowing.  Knowing this, the last thing she needed was one of her her settlers, especially one as kind and helpful as Sturges, going around proclaiming that he might be a synth.  

Next, she thought about her first visit with DiMA.  His questioning had had made her consider her own humanity, and whether she really was just a synth programmed to be in the situation that she found herself in.  Ultimately, Veronica had determined that it didn't matter to her, personally, and the feelings that she was dealing with were real enough to make her human.  Of course, during their conversation, DiMA had reminded her that the only way to truly know was through death, and being the fighter that she was, Veronica didn't plan on "finding out" anytime soon.  Why on Earth, she thought, would someone like Sturges even consider such a thing?  He had a relatively uncomplicated life, relative to the post-apocalyptic landscape.  He was an excellent mechanic with a penchant for fixing the old, and no shortage of work.  He lived within a peaceful settlement inside of the Net, and with the exception of the end of Winter, never had to struggle for food, water, and shelter.  He had so many friends, and little to no enemies.  Who would throw that away for nothing short of a guess?

"Look, Sturges," she said softly, "that's... a really dangerous thing to say."

"That's why I came to you, Roni.  You're the only person I can trust with somethin' like this."

She sighed, knowing that the role of General made her trustworthy to a lot of people, and her own personal ethics would never let her betray that trust.  It was a always a heavy burden to bear, but in this moment, it was almost too heavy.  What, though, did he expect her to do?  Kill him and pick through the pieces?  

"I-I'm just not sure what you want me to do," she whispered in his direction.  "From what I understand there's only one way to really know if you're a synth, and I'm  _not_ doing that to you."

"No, I know all that.  It's just, ever since I can remember I've been havin' these weird dreams." Veronica's heart sunk, remembering the last person who'd told her about weird dreams.

"I'll wake up in the middle of a big white room and  I'm bare ass naked like I'm fresh outta my mama's womb.  The light, it's is so bright that I can barely see anythin' except a few shadows kinda leanin' over me.  And they're talking about  _me._ Like I'm not sittin' right there or nothin'.  It's creeps me out.  Then, I feel like I just got shocked by the worst of things, and the pain is so real that I swear that it  _is_ real.  Around that time is when I wake up, sweatin' like a hunted radstag."

Veronica realized it was almost exactly the same dream that Katsumi had talked about in her holotapes, and she started to wonder if Sturges, this warm, kind-hearted soul, really was just a programmed personality.  Still, though, did it matter?

"Sturges, let's say we somehow  _could_ know that you were a synth.  Would it really change anything?"

Sturges spoke up quickly, as if expecting this argument.  "Well, let's say you found out that you found out  _you_ were a synth.  Would  _that_ change anything?"  

The flurry of emotions and thoughts that rushed through her head were overwhelming.  She didn't even know _how_ she'd feel if she knew she were a synth.  Maybe relieved that all of this pain and suffering was practically a figment of her imagination.  Perhaps angry that someone had killed the "original" Veronica and stolen her memories from her, never again to make more.  Arguably depressed that deep down, it was not her soul that Nate had peered into and fallen in love with.  Her life would possibly never be the same again, if she even could bear continuing on with her life.

So yes, knowing if he was a synth would definitely be an impact on Sturges' life, and as much as she wanted to protect him, she also knew that this would gnaw at him until there was nothing left.  How, then, could she help him?  The first person she thought of was DiMA, but since he had  admitted to his wrongdoings towards the people of Far Harbor, he had been publicly executed.  Any of the synths at the refuge of Acadia would still be too overcome with grief to be of much help, especially poor Faraday.  Her next thought was to seek out the assistance of the Brotherhood, who had been able to determine Danse's identity based on DNA results.  They, of course, would probably have Sturges executed on command if he were a synth, despite the allegiance many of the brothers and sisters felt towards the former Paladin Danse and former Sentinel Veronica Kinsley.  This left the Railroad, although Veronica wasn't sure how _they'd_ be able to help Sturges determine his true identity.  At the very least, though, they could council him through his feelings and help him to feel at peace.  

That was it, then.  She'd bring Sturges along on a trip to the Railroad Headquarters.  She knew Deacon would be more than happy to see her after so much time, and she herself missed that snarky, wonderful spy.  Veronica, feeling resolute, sat up, pushed her blanket aside, and padded lightly over the to the mattress.  Kneeling down, she reached out her arm and rested her hand on his shoulder.  As her eyes adjusted more and more to the dim of the room, she could faintly see that his eyes, nearly black in the dark room, were wide with concern, as if she might throw him to the wolves at any moment.  Veronica's heart broke a little, not only for how much her friend was hurting, but for how long he had probably been tormented by this.  How had she not noticed this turmoil behind his kind brown eyes and easy smile?

Reassuringly, she smiled and fixed a stray hair that had fallen over his forehead, "I've got a plan, Sturges.  I don't know how well it'll work, but, I think I have some friends you should meet."  Sturges sat up and his melancholy expression turned to one of overwhelming relief.  His teeth bothered with his full lower lip, as if he was trying to hold back tears.

"Veronica," he whispered, "Thank you."  With that, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down into a warm embrace.  Veronica wrapped her arms around his torso and laid her head upon his broad chest, listening the beat of his heart, still pounding slightly with anxiety.  On some level, she knew that this moment was far too intimate for two friends, but it had been so long since she'd had this kind of soothing physical contact with someone, that she allowed herself to give in and relax into his arms.  Slowly her eyes started to grow heavy, her breaths started to grow lazy, and her consciousness drifted towards sleep.

Before she finally crossed over, however, she felt the gentle touch of calloused fingers running through her short, fine hair.

 

 


	4. Motherboard

As the new day dawned, sunlight streamed into the room through windows on the wide garage door. Veronica squinted and groaned as her eyes adjusted to the light.  She stretched out her back, aching from a night on the delapidated mattress. Sturges definitely hadn't been joking about how uncomfortable it was, and Veronica made a mental note to try and find him a better one during her next scavenging trip. Looking to her side, she was surprised to see that her bed mate was missing, and her mind grew worried. Should she have pulled away from his embrace last night? Did this put some kind of invisible kink in their plans? In their friendship? Still, it was hard to regret such a human comfort after a year and a half of stoic isolation.

Veronica sat up, leaning her back against the concrete wall of the garage.  Decidedly ignoring her worry for the time being, she shifted her mind into planning mode for the trip that, hopefully, was still going to be happening. First, she'd need to smooth out the wrinkles that her emotional upheaval and subsequent disappearance had left yesterday.  Word had undoubtedly raced through the settlement about what had happened inside Headquarters, and the conversation around the evening meal would have been consumed with rumors, theories, and concerns.  Lovers would have lain awake last night whispering their worries about the young General to one another.  Somehow, she had to convey that all was well without stirring up more doubt within the community.

This monumental task would be followed by trying to explain to Preston about her and Sturges' plans without giving away too much information.  With preparations for the reopening of the caravan route in full-swing, she would need Preston to perform her duties, as well as his own, while she was gone.  Even though they were close friends, she knew he wouldn't take on so much work without an explanation.  How much could she and Sturges trust him with the truth?  Would news of Sturges' dilemma be spreading before the duo even reached Concord?

Finally, there would need to be packing, enough for the two-day trek to the Railroad Headquarters. One of her main concerns was in securing armor and arms for Sturges, who had always confessed to be somewhat of a pacifist.  The only shot Veronica had ever seen him take in the past year and a half was a lucky shot on a raider who was attacking Sanctuary.  The old, rusted laser musket that had made the shot had shattered apart a breath after the shot split the raider's head from his body.  Afterwards, Sturges left the pieces where they lay, vowing to never pick up a weapon again, even if it meant losing his own life.  Fortunately for their trip, most of the roadways they were talking were patrolled by the Minutemen Militia, but the last leg of the trip to the Headquarters would leave them vulnerable, and she didn't want Sturges empty-handed.

With a a few clicks and turns, the locks and bolts of the side door came undone and it slowly came open.  Instinctively, Veronica reached for her hip, only to remember that her pistol and holster were on top of her work clothes, several feet away.  She smiled with relief, on multiple levels, when she saw Sturges come through the doorway, one arm balancing two plates, heavily laden with a delicious-smelling food.  He smiled back with that easy smile.

"Well, well, well.  Look who  _finally_ decided to wake up," he joked, offering her one of the plates with a fork, and sitting down on the mattress next to her.  "Mama Murphy said those rad chickens finally laid their first set of eggs, so this is some kinda egg and tato combination."

Veronica wasn't sure whether she wanted to broach first, how he felt about last night, or how the town felt about yesterday afternoon.  She decided to go for the easier of the two, "So, uh, did anyone... ask about me?" she asked nervously, pushing the food around her plate with the fork.

Sturges grinned so wide that Veronica thought he was going to burst into laughter, "Now  _that's_ a story.  Of course as soon as I got over the bridge, Preston's on me, askin' what the hell happened yesterday.  I didn't wanna explain myself more than once, so I kept on walkin' towards the breakfast line, actin' like I didn't hear him.  Now you know Preston.  That had him hot on my heels.  I swear he woulda knocked me out if I hadn't spun around and explained, very  _loudly_ might I add, that I had you a little... preoccupied last night."  Sturges winked as Veronica's mouth dropped, as well as her plate.  A few scraps of egg went flying.  Her face cycled through several shades of red and purple.

" _WHAT?!_ " she roared, more surprised than angry.  She knew she shouldn't be surprised, though.  Sturges always had a sense of humor that kept Sanctuary on its toes.  

Sturges started to look worried, "Oh, c'mon, Roni.  I had to get 'em off ya somehow.  Besides, now they'll be so busy gossipin' about you and me, that they'll hardly notice us sneak out of town.  Even if they do, they'll just figure we needed ourselves a little getaway."  Again, he winked and Roni was grateful to have him in her corner.  It looked like the first step in her to-do list was already complete, and in a way, the second was as well.  The town was off her back, and Preston would probably understand her leaving.  There was only one problem.

"Sturges," she said softly, "We can't keep up that charade forever.  What happens when you meet someone?  Do we pretend to... break up?  Stop talking to you?  And if we don't do that, what then?  The town would be so hurt that we lied to them, and they'd probably never trust me again."

He leaned over and grabbed her hand, eyes melting into hers, "Veronica, who says this is a charade?"

Veronica's eyes grew wide and the color drained from her face.  Did Sturges...?  Did he just imply?  Did he  _love_ her?  But... how?  Did she love _him?_

She opened her mouth to try and speak when his lips turned to a smirk, his eyes sparkled, and he started to a laugh a full, bellowing laugh.  "Goodness gracious, Roni, I wish you could see your face.  I guess I am pretty good at this sneaky thing.  Look, Roni, let's just skin that cat when we catch it, okay?"  In his eyes, Veronica swore she saw something besides laughter, but she couldn't put her fingers on it. 

Veronica shook her head at Sturges and picked up her plate, digging into what mostly looked like a very messy omelet.  What it lacked in looks, though, it made up for in flavor.  Mama Murphy was a magician with the ingredients the barren wasteland provided.  The exchange definitely answered her questions about the town, and it also answered her question about last night.  Sturges seemed no different than before, and if anything, seemed even more comfortable with her than before.  Veronica smiled and relaxed her back against the wall.  Her heart was content to just sit here all day, eating and talking with Sturges, but she knew that there were considerable preparations to be done.


	5. Bearings

After finishing her breakfast, Veronica made quick work of changing back into her jeans and flannel shirt. Despite Sturges' protests, she insisted on helping to fold up the blankets and putting them away. She ran through a mental list of everything she needed to do if they wanted to leave by first light tomorrow, and if she wanted to get it all done, she needed to start soon, so with another thank you to her friend, Veronica grabbed the breakfast dishes and headed hastily back up the hill and across the bridge towards Sanctuary. As she expected, her Vice General was standing on the other side, arms folded and tricorn dipped so low that all she could make out was his scowl. Ignoring his obvious dismay, she walked up to him with and greeted him brightly.

"Good morning, Preston! Miss me?" she said as she leaned in and tilted up his tricorn. His pouting frown wavered in the face of her toothy smile and bright eyes. Preston never stayed mad at her for long, if he ever was really mad in the first place. He hesitated with responding, but finally gave in to her charms.

"Morning, General," he replied with a curt tip of his hat. It was then that Veronica looked beyond his shoulder and noticed many sets of eyes peering in her direction, looking up from breakfast dishes and glancing up from morning work tasks. 

Veronica lowered her voice a few decibels and asked, "Can we go talk somewhere less... watched?" Preston nodded her and the duo walked towards the Sanctuary Headquarters, and just before they opened the door, the residents broke out into a multitude of hoots, hollers, and catcalls.

"Way to go, General!" "About time ya got some!" "Is it true?"

Veronica turned a bright shade of red all the way to the tips of her ears. Even Preston had started to blush, and his hand was trembling slightly as he unlocked the door and the two walked towards his office. Passing by, Veronica glanced in her office and saw that Codsworth had already straightened up the chairs and thrown away the beer bottles, most likely sleuthing for clues as to her strange disappearance. Preston gestured towards the chair across from his desk as he settled into his own and folded his hands on the desk. He took a deep breath, ready for a monologue, when Veronica interrupted him.

"Preston, look. I'm sorry. What happened yesterday was definitely unexpected," she said, trying to stay duplicitous. "I - er - we never expected for you to get so bent out of shape over my sudden disappearance, but I guess looking back, I would have been just as worried if you had left Headquarters in Sturges' arms."

Preston couldn't hold back a smirk at her joke. He took his tricorn off of his head, placing it down on the desk, and idly ran one of his hands over his shaved head. After over a year of working so closely together, Veronica knew this was his tell that all was okay. 

"Look," he replied, "Whatever you do on your own time is your business, but you definitely had me worried General. I didn't even know you and Sturges were together. It doesn't seem like anyone in this town knew. You guys definitely kept your tracks covered, for whatever reason. Regardless, just give me a heads up next time you decide to get hauled out of her for a - er - booty call." The slight blush on his face from before now took up his entire face, neck, and even his arms. "God, it was nearly impossible to get anyone on evening duty to do their job last night. And when Sturges showed up this morning and said THAT! Well, I'll be surprised if anything gets done today."

Veronica gave him an apologetic look, which he dismissed with a wave. "Don't worry about it, General. Trust me, if it hadn't been you two, it would have been me and Curie." He paused, putting his tricorn back on and standing up. "Well, I guess we should get out there and try and get everyone moving for the day. Caravan season opens in just a few weeks, right?"

Standing up, Veronica kept her eyes at the floor and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. Just hearing Preston talk about caravan season made her regret her decision to leave with Sturges, but she knew it was important to the mechanic to find out sooner rather than later. "Look, Preston," she piped up nervously, "About caravan season. I have a favor I need to ask of you." Preston stared at her quizzically. "You see, Sturges and I really just want to get away for, I don't know, a week? Maybe two? We just - er - feel like it might be good to disappear and let the dust settle, you know?" 

The Vice General just stared at her, mouth agape, as if she had just asked him to throw the entire ration supply into the river. "Hold on. You two just want to leave? Right in the middle of everything we're trying to do? You want this settlement to go without it's best mechanic and it's General, who is in charge of this whole operation, just so you two can, can what? Have privacy? C'mon, General, you know I can't let you do that," he argued.

"Please, Preston. I need you to trust me, please. I have my reasons," Veronica pleaded, not wanting to let Sturges down.

Preston made his way towards the door. "Look, Veronica, you don't have a reason. You have a want, and I promise, as soon as we get the caravans moving, you two can go do whatever it is that you feel you need to do. Until then, Sanctuary needs you."

Veronica had to think fast. She had to think of something, anything that would get her off the hook. Of course, anything that didn't include the truth. The honest woman was never one to lie, and the way the lies were building made her uncomfortable. Somehow, though, she managed to grab one from the back of her mind and throw in to Preston.

"I-I'm p-pregnant," she stammered. Halting in his stride, Preston tensed up like the string of a bow. Her heart beat erratically as he stood there in silence, contemplating her admission. Slowly, he turned around to face her, eyes full of concern.

"Veronica. You-you're pregnant? I-I don't know what to say. Congratulations," he soothed, walking towards her and placing his hands on her shoulders. His genuine kindness made the lying even harder. 

"I-I don't want to keep it. That's why we're leaving. We're going to see a doctor. In Diamond City. To... to take care of it," she responded curtly, gritting her teeth. Preston's expression melted into one of sorrow and confusion. She continued, "Ever since Shaun, I just can't go through that again. Please, let me go, Preston." Preston gazed into her eyes, as if trying to read the situation and consider all possible outcomes. Deciding upon one, he sighed. "Okay, you guys can go. I'm so sorry, General. I had no idea. Please, if there's anything I can do-"

"Dont. tell. anyone," Veronica spat. A dark shadow passed over Preston's face as he nodded and then turned and left the room. Veronica walked hurriedly to her office, closed the door, and pressed her back against it. She pressed out the exhale that she had been holding. The lies were getting more and more complicated, and she only hoped she could keep it together for Sturges' sake. Taking a few minutes to breath, Veronica reorganized her thoughts and began to plan what else needed to be done for tomorrow - starting with armor. 

\-----

"C'mon, Danse, I really need it by the end of the day!" Veronica pointed to the pieces of armor across the workbench. She had had to pick through the stockpile and pick out the most in-tact pieces of armor she could find, and yet they were still dented and weak.

The Paladin looked her with an unamused expression. "Soldier, you already have a set of armor. It's in the storeroom with your weapons. Why do you need another set? And why do you need it today?" Veronica didn't want to have to lie again, especially to Danse, a man who had put his entire trust in her when she convinced him to stay in the Commonwealth.

"Do it for me," Preston ordered, walking up, as if materializing from thin air. "The General is doing a covert operation with Sturges under my orders. I can't reveal the details, but I'm sure a soldier of your experience understands that, right?" Danse considered him for a moment and then gave him a curt nod, picking up the armor pieces. "Alright, soldier," he affirmed, "They'll be ready by dinner time." Preston gave Veronica a quick pat on the back and a knowing look before walking away. Guilt consumed Veronica as she realized that she was receiving sympathy for a blatant lie. She turned away and started towards the storeroom to see if there were any weapons of note for Sturges. Halfway towards the small shack, which was situated behind her house, Sturges caught up with her and trotted along beside her. Pulling her keyring from her pocket, Veronica made quick work of the lock and opened the door to the dusty shed. Both of them entered and Veronica closed the door behind them.

"So how'd you get Mr. Grumps off your back?" Sturges teased. 

Veronica groaned. "Oh God, Sturges. I fucked up. He didn't want us to leave, so I lied. I-I told him I was pregnant, and that we had to go to Diamond City to-to get rid of it. Now he's making everyone help me get ready for the trip because he feels bad for us. The guilt is really getting to me," she quavered.

Closing the gap, Sturges stepped towards her and took one of her small hands between his two large hands, pressing it to his chest. "Roni, I can't have ya in so much pain on account of me. Maybe we should just tell them the truth. I mean, don't get me wrong. Not tryin' to discredit what you've done. I can't believe someone would just... go through so much trouble for me. Me!" His chocolate brown eyes melted into her jade green eyes, and for a minute, Veronica swore he was seeing right into her soul. She broke the gaze first, but keeping her hand within his. 

"No, I want to do this," she determined.

He paused, and then asked, "But why? Why would you do this for me?"

"Because- well- I don't know why. I just know that I want to do this. Call it instinct," she maintained.

Sturges shook his head in disbelief, "You're somethin' else, you know that? Look, when we get back, we'll make all this right. We'll tell everyone the truth, no matter what it means for me." A darkness flickered in his eyes at the last few words. Giving her hand a squeeze, he looked around the room and said, "Well, let's get packin'."


	6. Relay

After a fitful night of tossing and turning, the last thing Veronica wanted to do was wake up before sunrise. Her Pipboy chimed out its alarm from on top of her dresser, across the darkened room. Sleepily, she pushed the blankets aside and swung her feet to the side of the bed. She rubbed her eyes and went to the Pipboy to disable its alarm. In about an hour, she'd need to be at the Red Rocket ready for their first leg of the journey. Fumbling through the dark, grabbed her toiletries, towel, and fresh clothes, and made her way out the door, over the hill, and down towards the upsteam portion of the river that they reserved for bathing.

The breeze cut through her flannel pajamas and small patches of ice could be seen in the river, even though it was almost mid-April. Veronica longed for a warm bath, filled with jasmine-scented bubble bath, and accompanied by a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. In her mind, she tried to imagine that's where she was now, to try and ignore the cold, dark bath that awaited her. Although it was pitch black, save for her Pipboy's light glow, Veronica was shy in removing her garments. She folded them neatly and piled them on the shore, putting off the inevitable. Unfortunately, she didn't have much time, so with a deep breath, she ran into the river until the water was up to her waist. She let out a gasp that she hoped wouldn't wake the entire settlement. The water rushed by, taking all of the heat from her body and she shivered in the ebb and flow. At least she wasn't tired anymore, she thought. Bar of soap in hand, she made quick work of scrubbing away any and all dirt, leaving a fresh canvas for the journey ahead. Once she was done, she ran shivering back to shore, toweled herself off, and put on the fresh set of clothes Marcy had brought her last night.

Walking back towards the house, Veronica was relieved to see that all was still dark in Sanctuary, and her shriek hadn't woken anyone up. It was drawing near the appointed time to meet Sturges, and she still had to walk down to the garage, so she went back inside strapped on her armor set, which was resting against the wall in the living room. Then, she grabbed her holster from the battered coffee table and stuck it into her waistband. Her trust 10mm pistol went inside of that after she checked the magazine and racked the slide. Finally, she grabbed a long parcel, wrapped in paper from the couch. It was a gift for her new companion. A way of letting him know that she had his back, no matter what. With everything in place, it was go-time. Pulling her backpack, heavy with supplies, onto her shoulders, she stepped out of the door and made sure to lock it behind her. Who knew what would transpire between now and the next time she unlocked this door? Veronica straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath of icy cold air, and crunched across the town to the Red Rocket.

The town was silent, and Veronica pretended she could hear the snores of everyone, blissfully asleep, as she passed on by. Even though it was a touch sentimental, Veronica always missed her friends here at Sanctuary when she was away, and even though Preston always watched out from them while she was away, Veronica worried about her people until she got back again. As if hearing her thoughts, Preston emerged from his home next to the bridge as she was walking back. Veronica paused as he hurried silently out the door in flannel bottoms and a thin white shirt.

"General," he whispered, "I just wanted to wish you good luck... with everything. I'll be here when you get back, okay?" He smiled his genuine, warm smile, but his eyes relayed a sense of concern that touched Veronica deeply. She knew she'd want to tell him the truth the minute she got back. She didn't want any secrets between them. Overcome with her array of emotions, she grabbed him in a hug, and timidly, he wrapped his arms around her back.

"I want to talk to you. When I get back okay?" she promised. She felt him nod against her shoulder. Pulling away, she gave his should a quick squeeze before turning back towards her journey.

Passing out of the official settlement limits, the two guardsmen on duty tilted their hats towards her with a curt nod. This was it. The journey had begun. As she walked down the hill towards Red Rocket, she could already see the shadow of Sturges, leaning against one of the older gas pumps. Veronica was relieved to see that, after declaring that he absolutely  _would not_ wear it, Sturges had put on his armor over his coveralls and long-sleeved shirt.  His pack was resting at his feet and Veronica was surprised to see the glow of a cigarette in his mouth.  

As she walked up, he must have noticed the look of confusion on her face.  "Here ya go, Roni.  Was just keepin' it warm for ya," he said, passing her the half-finished cigarette, which she accepted.  He ran a hand through his hair nervously.  "I, uh, smoke when I'm stressed," he admitted.  Veronica finished the cigarette silently and stubbed it out with the toe of her boots.  

"S'pose we should get started?" he asked, voice unsure, as he pulled his backpack onto his broad shoulders.

Veronica handed the wrapped parcel to him, and he gave her a quizzical look.  "Is this a thing?  Givin' gifts for trips?" he asked sarcastically.  Veronica simply gestured for him to open it up, excited to see his reaction.  His large hands made easy work of the paper, and it fell away revealing a automatic laser musket.  

"Well, well, well.  I figured you'dve pawned this thing off," he said, examining the various mechanisms.  The radiant smile that took up his face took away the previously lingering anxiety.  

Veronica looked up with a smirk of pride.  "Consider it a loan," she beamed, "That thing's invaluable, much like its operator."  Sturges looked down at her, understanding the meaning behind the gift.  A man of few words, he gave her a simple nod, which Veronica knew was worth a million thank-yous.

Hoisting her backpack into position, she looked towards him.  "Alright there, partner.  Let's get this show on the road."  Sturges readjusted his pack and the two headed down the road, southbound, just as the sun started to glimmer on the horizon.  

* * *

 

Their first leg would take them directly South to the Graygarden settlement, almost directly south of the Red Rocket, all the way to the river that led into the city proper.  Veronica had never been a fan of neither Graygarden nor the high-brow robots that ran the hydroponic farm there.  She couldn't, however, overlook the tremendous contribution they had made to the Net's crop supply.  They also were able to supply highly pure plants and herbs for creating medical-grade chems.  Veronica still didn't look forward to her night stay there, knowing Supervisor White would undoubtedly hound Sturges about his background and what he was doing out alone with the General.

For the present, Veronica focused on the road before them.  Fortunately, the route they were taking was the same route the caravan troupe made from Sanctuary to Graygarden.  Runner were dispatched from Abernathy Farm and Sunshine Tidings Co-Op to meet the caravan at the main road, trading goods.  Because of this, the route was heavily patrolled by the Minutemen Militia, and the duo actually passed several of them as they made their way.  The pair was mostly silent during the walk to Concord, both still mentally waking up and allowing the blood to start moving.  As they passed the Mueseum of Freedom, however, both started to recall the day that Veronica had stormed in and saved their small ragtag group, the last of the Minutemen, from inevitable demise.  That started the conversations as they slowly made their way South.

The conversation started with shared stories, of the Minutemen, and of the everyday dealings of Sanctuary.  Sturges laughed as Veronica regaled the story of when Preston had tried to put on her suit of Power Armor and ended up completely falling over, requiring the assistance of both Danse  _and_ Veronica to get back up.  Veronica giggled wildly as Sturges told her about the time Mama Murphy had been hitting the Jet and had accidentally poured Nuka-Cola into the stew, instead of Brahmin milk.  So that's how her famous Cola Casserole had come about!  Veronica couldn't stop smiling, enjoying being out on the road, and enjoying the company.  

As the sun reached its apex, Veronica and Sturges were passing under the overpassing highway, and Veronica decided to stop for lunch.  They stepped off the road, set down their bags, and laid on the grass, resting their already aching limbs.  Veronica took a second to enjoy the warm kisses of the sun before sitting up and rummaging through her back.  From it, she pulled two Cram cans and two forks.  She tossed one to Sturges, opened her own, and dug in heartily.  Stupidly, she had completely forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, and she almost grabbed for another Cram, but worried about rations, decided to tough it out.  Sturges finished his can and tossed the metal container out into the grass.  Laying back, he rubbed his stomach and shut his eyes contentedly.  

"I need a nap after that meal," he smirked.  Veronica, feeling playful, pounced on him, shaking his shoulders.  

"Oh, no, mister.  I believe it's because of a certain  _someone_ that I woke up before dawn to start this little journey of ours.  If I don't get to sleep, you don't get to sleep!" she barked.  Sturges looked back up at her, but instead of laughter, she saw something else.  Something she couldn't put her finger on, like yesterday in the storehouse.  Something that made her heart beat faster.  Unnerved, she shook her head, smiling, and gently smacked her palms on his broad chest "Alright now, up ya get!" she ordered.  Instead of getting up, she grabbed her hands gently in his and traced circles on the backs of her palms.  

"Roni, what happens if... if I  _am_ _?_  I won't be  _me_.  I'll be some other fella's memories crammed into a machine that  _they_ made.  I might as well  _be_ them," he choked.  Veronica gently gave his hands a squeeze and locked her eyes on his.

"Now you listen to me.  It doesn't matter what we find out on this trip.  You'll always be the Sturges we love," she said, stammering on the last word.  "I-I mean all of us, you know.  Not just me.  Or anything."  She hands trembled lightly and her whole body flushed.  She continued, "Listen, even if you are a synth, you are more than a body and memories.  You've made new memories.  You helped us  _defeat_ the Institute.  You were the one who was there when I had to go into the Institute alone.  Just, just remember that, okay?"  Sturges nodded and released her hands.  The two stood and readjusted their packs, ready to continue on towards Graygarden.

The second half of the trip was much quieter, with each one deep in though.  Veronica still was trying to figure out that look in his eyes.  It was like a reoccurring dream that she found herself constantly thinking about.  Constantly trying to decode.  Maybe it was anxiety.  She remembered the period of silent suffering Danse had gone through after finding out his true identity.  His eyes had grown dark for weeks on end, and he lost so much weight that his Power Armor would fit properly.  The look in his eye, though, was still vastly different from that of Danse's.  Perhaps it was just exhaustion from the past few days, but then, he didn't really look to be all that tired.  What then?  That look almost seemed familiar, like she had seen it before.  In a previous life.  On Nate.  

Veronica stopped suddenly in her tracks, Sturges crashing behind her, nearly knocking her off her feet.  The thought that hit her had literally stopped her in her tracks.  Of course she had seen that look.  It was the look Nate had given her when she ordered a giant steak on their first date.  It was the look Nate had given her when she cried over a commercial about abandoned dogs.  It was the look Nate had given her the day Shaun was born.  It was...  _love_.  Her mouth dropped open as she went through this realization.  He  _loved_ her?  That was impossible.  

Sturges came into her field of vision, concern across his face.  "Uh, Roni?  Y'alright in there?"  When she didn't answer, she heard the click of a purified water can open and felt it press against her lips.  "I think you need some water.  C'mon, drink this."  When she still didn't respond, the can was tilted back and cool liquid rushed down her throat.  Snapping to, she swallowed the much-needed water and took hold of the can.  Blinking a few times, she looked at Sturges standing in front of her, watching her intently. 

"You alright, Roni?" he asked, more quietly this time.  Her mind was racing with thoughts and for some reason she couldn't find a single one to say out loud.  Instead, she just shook her head "yes" and started back on the road towards Graygarden.  Sturges stood baffled for a second before gathering his rifle and tromping after her.  Reaching her side, he put a strong around her waist and held tight.  "Can't have you fallin' down if you pass out, Roni," he said gently as they padded along.  

 _He loves me_ , she thought.  She  _knew._

Looking over at him, she wondered how she felt about him.  She had never really stopped to think about it.  The two definitely had history.  They had spent weeks together turning Sanctuary into a proper settlement, patching up walls, and salvaging materials.  When she went into the Institute, he was the only one there to see her off, and when she came back, he was there to pick her up when she collapsed in grief on the pad.  They had gone into the Institute together on that fateful day, and he had held her on the way back when she had left Synth Shaun behind.  He was the one who had gone and brought back Nate's body when they decided to do a proper burial.  He was the one who put her at ease when she and Preston squabbled over settlement matters.  He was the one who made Nuka Cola come out of her nose one night after trading corny jokes.  And he was the one who often showed up in her mind when she felt overwhelmed and ready to quit.  Maybe she  _did_ love him.

Veronica led them off the main road to a smaller one, leading straight towards Graygarden.  The sun was lowering on the horizon, and she was glad they had made the first leg of their journey without any  _physical_ turmoil.  As they closed in towards their destination, Veronica broke the silence by warning Sturges of the  _unique_ personality of their hostess for the evening.  

As they opened the door to the greenhouse, she heard a luxurious voice coo, "Darling, if you aren't just a sight for sore optical sensors.  Oh, and who is this strapping young man you've brought?  You must introduce us."  Veronica rolled her eyes and prepared for a night with the investigative Supervisor White.


	7. Optical Sensors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter makes sense like it did in my head. I wrote a skeleton of the chapter and then filled it in with detail. Some of that detail just kind of unwinded into this emotional monster of a chapter. I hope it's not too rambling. This chapter quite literally took a mind of its own, and was not in any way what I was planning! Please, as always, constructive criticism is welcome!

"Good afternoon, Supervisor White," Veronica stammered, refusing to make polite eye contact with the metal and wire Siren.  

Everyone in the Commonwealth who had the misfortune of passing through Graygarden was lured in by the honeyed words and lilting drawl of Supervisor White, only to leave with their tail between their legs and their egos shattered.  This applied to everyone, even someone with the power of the Minutemen behind them.  Every time Veronica had any interaction with Supervisor White, which she ensured was as infrequent as possible, it was like she was transported far back in time, before the bombs had fallen. A time where she was a little girl with awkward buck teeth and pigtails, standing in front of the big, scary principal, knees buckling and lips trembling.  Her tongue became instantly tied, and she struggled to decipher the hidden meanings between the robot's double-edged words.

White paused to snip a few dead hubflower heads from a flourishing plant, and then floated towards Sturges and Veronica, who were huddled awkwardly at the doorway. Their bodies were so close that Sturges' hand brushed slightly against her exposed wrist, sending a shiver up Veronica's spine, in addition to the one Supervisor White's voice had caused. As she approached, the modified Miss Nanny's two optical sensors immediately turned towards Sturges and the aperture opened fully, taking in this new addition to her directory.

"Oh, Veronica," she cooed, "You absolutely  _must_ introduce me to this handsome young man.  Although... I do wish he'd dress a little better than overalls.  This is a botanical laboratory, not a barn.  Seriously, sweetheart," she said, looking Sturges up and down, "Even the Commonwealth has fashion."  Sturges blushed and looked down at the floor, toeing at the greenhouse's dirt floor with his boot.  He mumbled a polite apology and Veronica's awkwardness started to boil into anger.  From her time in the law firm, Veronica became used to the catty antics of dominant women.  Sturges, who had built Sanctuary from the ground up, who never forgot Codsworth's invitation to tea, who checked up on the elderly's homes well after his daily work shift, who played with those orphaned by the Commonwealth, he was not one worthy of such pettiness.  Veronica balled her fists at her sides and looked up at Supervisor White, hazel eyes to black sensors, ready to speak her mind.  Sturges gently caught her wrist in his hand and rubbed small circles with his thumb.  Veronica was shocked by his gentle touch, and immediately her hands relaxed, as did her willingness to argue.  

"Oh now, I don't mean to _offend_ you, dear.  I've just been around awhile.  Next year is my 250th birthday after all.  You just can't always take what an old woman like me says to heart."  Supervisor White's apertures shuttered, as if _winking_.   Veronica rolled her eyes, already done with the pompous antics.  She was desperate to finish the niceties and settle in for the evening.  

"Supervisor White, this is Sturges.  He's our mechanic in Sanctuary, and a very good one at that.  I've asked him to travel with me for some business in the city.  All we ask is for shelter for the evening," Veronica stated curtly.  Sometimes cutting to the chase worked with Supervisor White.  Sometimes it did not.  That day, unfortunately, proved to be the second.

"Veronica, Veronica.  Such an open book sometimes.  You can't avoid me, darling.  Come now, I'll let you put your things down in the guest house, but then we _must_ catch up.  All of us.  You, me,  _Sturges_ ," she drawled.  At least she wasn't inviting Supervisor Brown or Supervisor Greene, although Veronica would be surprised if they even came.  Both were more absorbed in their scientific work than the people and events of the Commonwealth.

Veronica let out an indignant _humph_ , and followed after Supervisor White, who was leading them out the other door, out of the greenhouse, and towards the guest house.

A year and a half ago, when Veronica had taken over as General of the Minutemen, she was determined to create systems and organizations that would benefit the people as a whole.  She tried to connect her knowledge of the former United States federal system with the survivalist mindset of the Commonwealth.  Before the war, she never would have condoned allowing a stranger into her home to spend the night, but the Commonwealth was dangerous.  Reports were continuously coming in that camping Minutemen were killed and raided along the roadside, sometimes for nothing more than Raiders' sport.  Always a bleeding heart, General Veronica knew that something had to be done.

 Within the first month of her position, she had insisted upon creating a new ruling.  All settlements had to be willing to take in any Minutemen travelers into their quarters for the night, at no charge, and with no stipulations.  It had been one of the most exalted things she had done.  Now, all across the Net, Minutemen were able to travel safely knowing that they had a safe place to sleep for the night.  Minutemen casualties decreased significantly as a result, and the measure also created camaraderie between Minutemen of different settlements.

Because of its popularity, Veronica had increased the scope of the measure to include all neutral Commonwealth inhabitants, such as those in Diamond City and Goodneighbor.  They, however, were usually asked to provide service to the settlement, in return for the hospitality, such as by helping serve the evening meal, standing in for a watch shift, or fixing something around the town.  This, of course, increased the overall morale of the Commonwealth and raised the standing of Minutemen.  All of the settlements readily complied to these rulings.  All of them, except Graygarden.

Graygarden was unique in that it was the only settlement to have absolutely zero human settlers, and because of this, they had no need for a place to sleep.  When the ruling was first passed, each settlement's Council representative returned home and explained the parameters to their constituents.  Most settlements erected a small furnished guest house within a few weeks.  Graygarden, however, chose not to have a representative in the Minutemen Council.  With this in mind, Veronica had sent Preston to deliver the news, and from what she was told later, the Supervisors had refused the measures  before Preston had finished explaining everything.  

Furious, the next week, Veronica had led a small team of settlers to Graygarden with building supplies in tow.  They had all but stormed the settlement, much to the horror of Supervisor White, and without a word, started putting together an acceptable guest house.  The job took four days, and the crew spent their evenings camping in sleeping bags under the stars.  The entire time, the Supervisors stayed away from the site and averted their optical sensors from looking at the  _abomination_ to their settlement.  Once everything was done to the General's specifications, the crew packed up and left.  Veronica had tipped her tricorn at Supervisor White as they left, as an unsaid threat against destroying the building.  

It was towards this diminutive, slightly slanted shack that Supervisor White, followed by Sturges and Veronica, was headed towards.  Knowing how much the robot hated that building helped Veronica feel a slight hit of justice after the way Supervisor White had acted in the greenhouse.  Once they reached it, Supervisor White stepped aside, allowing the duo to continue towards the door.

Tentatively, Veronica opened the door to the small shack at the far corner of the settlement's property, and was glad to see that everything was as she had left it.  There were two mattresses, fitted with blankets and pillows on opposite sides of the single room.  Above each were simple shelves and hooks for bags and weapons.  An oil lamp sat on an old book shelf at the far wall of the room, stuffed with books Veronica had found on traveling and on pre-War Boston.  Out back, there was an outhouse and small tub for bathing and washing clothes.  It was meager, as far as accommodations went, but it was a much better option than huddling under an overturned truck.  It was still a better option, even with Supervisor White's oppressive attitude.

Choosing the bed on the right, Veronica walked to its designated hooks and shelves and began putting her things up, glad to have the heavy weight off of her back.  Sturges followed suit on the left, placing his pack on a hook and the gifted rifle on the shelf.  Supervisor White had made her way back towards the greenhouse to wait for them to settle in.  Veronica flopped down onto the mattress and rubbed her ankles, groaning at the swelling that Commonwealth hikes always left her with.  She unlaced her boots and set them aside to dig in more fully.  She would have given up her beloved pistol for a real pedicure, like in the shops she visited before the bombs had fallen.

"C'mon now, Roni, this room ain't big enough for that smell.  Foooo-ey," Sturges joked, pretending to squeeze his nose shut.  Veronica stuck her tongue out at him, glad the Mayoress of Graygarden hadn't sapped out his sense of humor.  He sauntered over and knelt in front of her, and her eyes grew wide, "Oh, no, Sturges, you really don't have to do-" her eyes shut with gratification as he began to knead his strong, calloused fingers around her ankles and feet, "- _that,_ " she sighed.

"That's what I thought," Sturges said with a chuckle.  For few moments, Veronica simply relished in the physical act of the foot massage, trying to remember the last time someone other than herself had even touched her feet.  She chuckled, remembering it had been Nate, when he tried to paint her toes when she was too pregnant to bend over.  

After the moments passed, Veronica realized the intimacy of this, and the thoughts and questions from earlier in the day started to flood her mind.  Surely, he was just being a gentleman, right?

_Right?_

"Excuse me, Earth to Roni?  Ya still in the building?" Veronica snapped to and her eyes met Sturges' melting brown eyes, again with that look, although it was now mixed with a bit of snark.  His hands had stopped kneading and were mindlessly tracing a scar on her foot.  She couldn't stand it anymore.  She had to talk to him about...  _this._ Whatever  _this_ was, even if she didn't know if she was a part of  _it._

Grounding herself against the wall, she started, "Sturges, I... I think we should... talk."  His eyes shifted with concern and her resolve started to fade.  

"Everythin' okay, Roni?  Hope I didn't offend your friend or anything," he worried.  With that her resolve disappeared into oblivion.  Veronica quickly worked to salvage the conversation 

"Yeah, I just hope she didn't get to you.  That's- that's all.  She can be pretty... well... she can be a  _bitch_ ," she stammered.

Sturges shook his head, "You really don't like that one, do ya?"  Veronica looked at him, grateful that the crisis was averted.  "And you  _do_?" she asked incredulously.  

"I mean, she's alright, I guess.  A bit to the point, but I've never been one to shy away from that," he answered.  Veronica just shook her head at him, surprised.  "Well," she shrugged, "Let's go then."  Veronica replaced her boots, trying to wrap her head around the last few days, or even just the last thirty minutes.

The two headed back outside and into the greenhouse.  Supervisor White had set two dilapidated lawn chairs in front of the campfire stove and appeared to be cooking some kind of vegetable soup.  Even though Supervisor White was never one for guests, she would never let it get around the Commonwealth that she was a bad hostess.  

They both took a seat with a groan and reached their hands towards the warm fire.  The peace, unfortunately, was short lived.  Immediately, Supervisor White began with the inquisition.

"So, Veronica, what business takes you to the city?  You seem so  _domestic_ _ated_ in Sanctuary," she badgered.  

"Oh, as opposed to being a molerat out here in the Commonwealth?" Veronica quipped, returning to her previous feeling of irritation.

"Oh, sweetheart, you always take things too seriously.  And speaking of  _serious_ , you must tell me more about this  _seriously_ muscular man you have here.  A beau perhaps?" Supervisor White cooed, ladling the warm soup into chipped bowls, and offering it to her guests.  Veronica took hers with a huff and started to dig in, and tried to hide the fact that she found it absolutely delicious.  While most of Graygarden's immaculately grown produce and herbs were used for medicinal purposes, they grew a small selection of vegetables, usually traded for rare robot parts for when one of the Supervisors needed repair.  With vegetables so pure, the soup almost reminded Veronica of the soups she and Nate used to make on cold, winter nights.  Pouring the last of the rich broth into her mouth, Veronica looked up and was shocked to see both Sturges and White staring at her in surprise. 

"Huh, guess she likes your soup, Miss White.  I can't recall the last time I've seen Roni eat like that,"  Sturges joked as he spooned another bite.  Veronica blushed and muttered an apology as she rose and started towards the water spigot so that she could rinse her bowl.  

" _Roni_ _?_ Oh, that is  _rich_.  I didn't realize our glorious General had herself such a nickname," the robot chided, much to Veronica's chagrin.  She kept walking towards the spigot, frustrated at how she always let Supervisor White make her feel.

Sturges soothed, "Aw, c'mon.  Let's cut Roni some slack.  For the record, only  _I_ can call her that."  

"Oh, so then you  _are_ the beau.  I must say, I'm a bit horrified the gossip hadn't reached Graygarden yet.  The three of us had figured poor Veronica would stay an old maid." Supervisor White said with mock concern.

Veronica had finished rinsing her plate and was leaning on the spigot, head in her hands.  She let out a muffled scream of frustration.  Sturges just stammered in the Supervisor's face. "Oh... u-uh... no, ma'am.  I mean, not that there's anything  _wrong_ with Roni.  I mean... uh...  _damn_.  We're just, we're not...  _beaus_."  That was it.  Veronica had had enough of Supervisor White, and they had only exchanged less than a few sentences.  She smashed the plate against the greenhouse floor and stormed back out of the door she had entered no sooner than ten minutes ago.  The door slammed behind her as she plodded back towards the guest house, tears of shame streaking her cheeks.

She was ashamed at how she let Supervisor White made her feel.  She was humiliated at such an uncharacteristic show of emotion.  She was distraught that the universe was pulling herself and Sturges together, and the thought of the two of them together was still a question mark in her mind.  This, of course, all piling on top of the ultimate mission of this trip.  It was too much, even for someone who held the weight of the Minutemen, and often the Commonwealth, in her hands.  Veronica tore the guest house door open, slammed it behind her, and pressed her back against it.  In the dark and stillness of the small room, she tried to slow her ragged breathing, but it was no match to the hot tears rolling down her chilled cheeks.

A gentle knock came at the door.  "Roni?  C'mon now, it's just me.  Miss White says she's real sorry if she made ya upset.  Can I come in?" Sturges' voice whispered through the cracks of the door.

Veronica tried to dry her tears before opening the door, to prevent another awkward conversation, but it wasn't working.

"Roni?  Can-Can I at least get my coat?  It's kinda cold out here," he said sheepishly.  Veronica swiped the tears from her eyes and pulled the door open, ensuring he couldn't see her face.  Behind her back, she heard him gently shut the door and his booted footsteps plod through the room.  Instead of walking towards his bunk, though, she heard him walk towards her, until she could feel his body heat behind her.  A heavy hand landed on her shoulder, and pulled her 180 degrees, until she was looking up into his face.  Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy with tears.  

His strong, solid arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close.  Veronica tentatively rested her hands on his biceps.  "Sturges..." she whispered.

"C'mon, Roni.  What's really going on?" he asked, shifting one arm to push aside a bang that had fallen in her face.  Veronica found herself instinctively leaning into his warm touch.  Without conscious thought, she found herself catching his wrist, and pressing her lips to his open palm.  His eyes grew wide with surprise.

"R-Roni, what's really going on?" he questioned, fear flecking his words.

She looked back up at him, "I know you love me."


	8. Wrench

The icy dregs of winter wind gently blew against the small guest house, causing the shoddy wooden walls to creak and moan. Sturges stared up at the still dark ceiling, listening to the sounds that the wind brought from the North. Somewhere a Yao Guai let out a chilling cry. A faint crack of gunfire rang out, far in the distance. It was that odd time of night, where time seemed to stop moving, and everything around you became unearthly. Straining, Sturges craned his neck up to peek at Veronica's pipboy on the bookshelf. The faint green glow read 3:18AM.   _Just fuckin' great_ , Sturges thought to himself,  _another sleepless night_.  He hadn't slept much since the nightmares had gotten worse.  Tonight, however, the nightmare keeping him awake was absolutely, terrifyingly real.  The images from his confrontation with his General stewing in his mind.

As soon as the words had left her lips, he knew he was caught red handed.  His whole body tensed, and he immediately stepped back.  He could still feel her warm kiss on his palm, as if her lips were a branding iron.  The color drained from his face.  Of course he loved her.  He had loved her since she had ripped the Minigun off of the roof of the Museum and almost highhandedly saved him and his friends from certain death.  He had loved her since she had trailed after him around Sanctuary, handing him nails as they patched up houses and kissing his finger when it accidentally found its way under a hammer.  He had loved her since she had disappeared into the Institute, while he worked the controls, all to find her son.  The entire time she had been gone, Sturges stood at the controls, gripping them with white-knuckles, terrified to let go his only connection with her.  The thought of never seeing those hazel eyes and sweet smile again had nearly torn him in two.  When the relay came back to life, and she arrived back on the pad, he had run to her, not even believing she was real.  He had just wanted to hold onto her and never let her leave his sight again.  It took everything in his power not to tell her he loved her right then and there, in case the day ever came that she didn't come back.  

This was not at all how he wanted her to find out.  He had wanted to tell her on a walk under a canopy of stars.  He wanted to tell her when he was sure of who he was, so that he knew who or what he was offering her.  Not here.  Not in a rickety excuse for a cabin.  Not when he wasn't sure how she even felt about him.  Unfortunately, the Commonwealth was never one for happy endings.

"Roni, I-" he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, "I-this-uh-this isn't the time or place."

Her face formed a hard, determined look.  The lawyer was coming out, and Sturges knew he was about to found guilty.  "So you're saying that  _during_ a mission, where both of us are going to be spending an awful lot of time together, isn't the 'time or place'?" she hissed, "You're damn right it isn't, but here we are."  She swept her hand around the room in a mockery of display.

Sturges looked down into her face, red with anger, and her eyes, brimming with confused tears.  No, this wasn't wasn't how he had dreamed of telling her, but this was how he was going to.  When he did, it was in a barely audible whisper.

"I love you, Roni," he professed, searching her eyes for a response.  She keep them steeled against his gaze and remained silent.  The silence made him nervous.  Veronica broke first, looking down at the floor and wrapping her arms around herself, as if to shield herself while she thought.  They stayed there for a few minutes, with each individual locked in their own thoughts, before Sturges gave up on receiving a response, let alone the one he so desperately wanted.  Quietly, he turned from her and started to get prepared for what would be a long night of no-sleep.  Veronica broke from her reverie and followed suit, pulling off her boots and extinguishing the oil lamp.  The room fell still for a few moments, save for the crinkle of bedrolls as they shifted into comfortable positions.  Eventually the room fell completely silent, and the mechanic assumed she was asleep until a meek voice pierced the darkness.

"I don't know, Sturges," she whispered, an audible sob in her throat.  He knew better than to probe any further.  They were both exhausted, emotionally and physically, and anything he said would only rupture an already delicate situation.

Sturges heard rustling as she tossed and turned in her sleep, but in about half an hour, he heard her quiet, shallow snores, leaving him alone with his thoughts.   _She doesn't know_ _?_ , he thought to himself,  _What the hell does that_ mean?  Part of him worried that her love pended on whether he was a synth.  Another part of him knew that if anyone could see past that, it was her.  A good portion of him worried over whether her simple response was a means of deflection while they were travelling together.  Whatever the reason, he just hoped that he would know soon.

* * *

 

As the first cracks of the morning sun peeked between the uneven panels of the wall, Sturges sat up, still awake.   _Might as well get rollin'_.  As quietly as his bulky frame could, he slipped off the bedroll and gathered to wash up.  He opened the door, flooding the room with faint light, and as he looked back he could see the faint streaks of tears staining Veronica's face.  He shook his head.  It damn near killed him to know that he had caused those tears to fall.  Continuing on, he entered the greenhouse, located a bucket, and filled it to the brim with water from the pump.  As the water came to a boil, he settled into one of the rickety chairs with a groan.  

"Master Sturges, I presume!" a boisterous voice boomed.  Startled, Sturges looked over to see another robot floating towards him, and he stood to greet him.  "Uh, yes, sir.  How's it hangin'?" Sturges said, instinctively reaching out his hand.  Realizing his mistake, he pulled it back with an embarrassed grin.  

"It's a wonderful day here in Graygarden, and you, Master Sturges, are about to be one lucky man!" the robot bellowed, ignored Sturges' faux pas.  The mechanic just looked at the Mister Handy with a confused expression.  "I'm your host, Supervisor Greene, and we're about to make, a, deal!" Greene continued, punctuating the last three words.  Now, beyond any comprehension, Sturges just gaped impolitely at this obnoxiously brazen robot, just hoping the deal didn't involve him dead.

"What can I do ya for, uh, buddy?" Sturges asked.  Supervisor Greene let out a sound that reminded Sturges of a chuckle.  "Now that's the spirit!  If you, Sturges, can help me with a small task, you'll be able to choose from one of our three FABULOUS prizes!"

"Al-alright?  Sure?" Sturges responded.  Supervisor Greene started towards another part of the greenhouse, and Sturges followed after him.  At the end of the large greenhouse room sat another robot that Sturges hadn't been introduced to yet.  "Meet my beautiful, bodacious co-host, Supervisor Brown!  Say 'hello' to our newest player, Supervisor Brown!"  The robot remained silent and unmoving.  "Ha-ha.  Ha-ha.  That's right, you can't!  You see, Sturges, this game is called, Fix My Co-Host!"  

"Uh, you need to fix up this guy here?" Sturges said, looking over the broken bot.  " _If_ you win this game, you'll win one of our three FABULOUS prizes!"  

"Uh, okay, hold on," Sturges replied, plodding back over to his back by the fire and grabbing a few tools from his pack.  When he came back over, he removed a few screws before taking on the back panel.  He poked around at the circuitry and gears, astonished at how well the robot had been maintained in the absence of a mechanic.  After a few minutes of careful prodding, he found the source of the problem.  The wire that connected to the battery had snapped off, most likely from general wear and tear.

"Ain't nothin' good ol' duct tape can't fix," Sturges said, reaching down for his roll.  He stuck out his tongue in concentration as he re-attached the wire to it's rightful place.  Almost immediately, the Mister Handy started to reboot, and all of his gears started to whir.  As Sturges closed the back panel, Supervisor Brown started his rocket, hovering for a moment, before dismissively floating away without a thank-you.  "You're welcome!" Sturges called after him, sarcastically.

"CONGRATULATIONS, Master Sturges!  You have won one of our three FABULOUS prizes.  So what'll it be?  Behind door number 1, we have 10,000 caps!  Behind door number 2, we have a lifetime supply of Sugar Bombs!  And best of all, behind door number three, three, three, three, three-"  _POW!_ A palm crashed against the back of the robot, stopping his broken stuttering.  "Thank you for playing today!  Enjoy your prize!!" he said as he floated away after Supervisor Brown.

Sturges flushed slightly when he saw Veronica standing in front of him, hair slightly damp, and dressed in fresh clothes.  "Sorry about that," she apologized, "He gets stuck sometimes.  You just gotta give him a smack."  Sturges noticed that she was avoiding eye contact, but at least she was speaking to him.   

"What's the third prize?" Sturges asked.  Veronica let out a small chuckle, "It's a NEW CAR!" Her mimicry of Greene's voice got a laugh from him.  

Veronica quickly got back to business, "I hope you don't mind, but I used your water to wash up.  I've got some more on so that you can get washed up.  Then, we really need to get going."  Nodding in agreement, Sturges grabbed his pack and the warm bucket and headed to the washtub behind the guest house.  Making quick work of it, he used a cloth and soap to clean up his arms and face, where a new layer of grease had appeared from the inside of the robot.  He also made quick work of rinsing out his hair before fixing it into his pompadour style.  After changing into a clean set of clothing, he pulled his pack on and grabbed his rifle from the guest house, ready for another day of travelling.

Walking back towards the main road, he saw Veronica at a distance, smoking a cigarette and idly ashing onto the ground.  The rising morning sun caught in her brown locks, creating the illusion of a halo around her head.  No matter how she felt about him, he would always love her as his savior, saving him from a life of unknown identity.  Coming to stand next to her, he nudged her gently with his elbow, and the two headed East, along the river, making their way towards the place that held his fate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super sleep deprived, so if there are any contextual, spelling, or grammar errors, please let me know!


	9. Screw

For most of the morning, the two traveler's walked in silence, preferring the company of their own thoughts. The sound of their boots crunching against the dusty pavement was the only sound to be heard. Veronica continued to mull over the events of last night.   _Well at least now I_ know, she thought to herself,  _but what the hell does it_ mean _to me?_ She rubbed at the scratched silver band on her left hand.  Nate would always be a piece of her, and the thought of moving on seemed like a monumental task.  Sure, it had crossed her mind before, during the War.  At least once a month, the military spouses would get together for coffee, brunch, or other outings.  They would discuss their feelings and emotions.  Some were struggling with the absence of a partner on deployment.  Others were helpless as they watched someone they once knew, ravaged by the effects of PTSD.  Then, there were the often quiet few, who were suffering the untimely death of their beloved.  

Veronica had watched as a few of them fastened themselves into new relationships, desperate to bury themselves into a familiar routine.  Aching to fill a void that they couldn't understand the depth of.  They claimed that they did it for the children, to give them a sense of normalcy in their lives, but Veronica knew this was just a front for the backlash they often received.  Veronica had once been one of those judging, but now, she could understand.  She wanted nothing more than arms to wrap around her and tell her that everything was going to be alright.  She wanted someone to look at her the way Nate had, like a marooned man seeing his rescue.  She wanted a warm body to comfort her during the long, Wasteland nights.

Hell, she deserved that more than any of those women back in the day, with their casseroles and starched dresses.  Veronica had watched her husband be murdered, and her son kidnapped, all while she watched and then was refrozen, only to emerge over 200 years after the bombs had fallen.  Oh, and when she did find her son, he was nearly three times her age, and was overseeing an organization that was in the business of killing innocent people.  Still, she couldn't bring herself to do it.  As they walked, though, Veronica kept stealing glances over at her companion.  He had been there for her during some of the most trying times of her new life.  He also wasn't bad to look at.  She loved her men tall, as Nate had been, and Sturges definitely fit the bill, nearly a foot taller than she was, though she was.  He was muscular, like Nate had been, or even more so.  The grind of the Commonwealth, combined with his near constant mechanical tinkering, gave Sturges a physique that would have been the envy of men pre-War.  His face was always kind, even in an argument, full smiling lips and brown eyes the color of Nuka Cola.  She also had a thing for the whole old-school pompadour he had going on.  Nate had had something similar, although trimmed down to meet military regulations.  Veronica wondered if his hair would be soft, like Nate's, if she ran her hands through it.

 _Maybe someday_ , she thought to herself,  _I could love him_.  With this, she decided to put him out of his obvious misery.

"Look, Sturges," she said, clearing her throat, "About last night.  I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have brought it up."

Sturges let out a big exhale, like he had been holding his breath since last night.  "Oh, Roni, no.  Don't apologize.  I should be the one apologizin'.  Look, ain't no use denyin' I... uh... got a little... um... some  _feelings_ for ya, but I am sorry, I guess, that it had to come out  _now._ "  Veronica ventured a glance at him, his face redder than a ripe tato.  She stretched out her hand and took his calloused hand in hers.  He looked down at it, as if unsure what to do.  

Veronica continued, "Look, I'm flattered.  I really am.  And I love you, too, Sturges.  I'm just not sure  _how_ yet.  Does that make sense?"  Sturges nodded.  "I just, I just don't know how to move on.  Or if I'm even allowed to move on.  Or what moving on really means, you know?"  Sturges squeezed her fingers.  "Know exactly what ya mean," he murmured.

Again, Veronica looked over and saw that his expression had turned dark, but before she could ask questions, he explained.  "Had a girl when I was down in Quincy, Mel.  She was a little spitfire, like you.  Used to help me out in the garage, tinkering with stuff so we could trade it for food or whatever.  When the Gunners came," his voice grew thick with emotion, "We all scrambled.  I was never much in a fight, so we ran like hell.  The Gunners just kept gettin' closer, and that's when heard the cock of a gun.  I looked back to see her aim down the sights of a pistol and take out one of them out.  I couldn't help it, I just kept running.  Next thing I know, I had caught up with the rest of the group, and Mel was nowhere to be found.  If she hadn'ta done what she did..."  His eyes glistened with tears.  It was Veronica's turn to squeeze his fingers.  Two broken souls.  Did that make one whole?

After a few moments of silent, Veronica spoke first.  "I'm so sorry, Sturges.  I had no idea," she apologized quietly.  His hand left hers and wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her in for an awkward side hug as they walked.  "No need to apologize, Roni.  How could you've known?" he cooed.  

"So, can I ask you a question?" she asked.  

"Sure!  Bombs away," he answered with a smile, resuming his typical cheerful demeanor.

"I just- How do you move on?   _Can_ you even move on?  Don't you still love her?"  Looking over, she could tell Sturges was deep in thought, picking over his words carefully.  When he finally spoke, his voice was determined.  "You don't.  I wish I could tell ya that one day you just wake up and forget all about them, but I'd be lyin'.  I still love her.  Still think about her when I'm layin' in bed at night.  And don't tell anybody, but sometimes I think I'll see her, walking through Sanctuary, and when I realize it's not, I lose it.  Cry like a baby.  One day, though, you meet someone, and your heart starts makin' a little room.  Ya know you'll always love your... passed love... but you also know that you have space for someone new."

Veronica blushed knowing exactly who he had "met."  Again he spoke, this time in a softer voice.  "Look, Roni.  I'll always have room for you, when you're ready, if you ever find yourself thinkin' of me.  If not, I'll just be glad to know I felt that way for someone again."  

* * *

 

They again fell silent as they continued on towards the City.  Their steps were determined and they were making good pace, reaching the bridge across from Greentech Genetics as the sun was starting to sink again.  Fortunately the walk had been peaceful, and they had passed several Minutemen and Brotherhood patrols, who both saluted politely as they passed.  As they crossed, the bridge, Veronica reached for her pistol, turned the safety off, and swept it before them as they walked.  Even with the frequent patrollers, the city was too dense, and there were too many places for troublemakers to hide.  She heard the rustle as Sturges pulled his rifle off of his back and the hum as he switched the safety off.  It was nice to have him at her back. _  
_

They picked their way slowly, bobbing between overturned trucks and large pieces of wreckage as cover.  They were passing Pickman Gallery, within sight of the Old World Church, when she heard a voice come from next to the Gallery.

"A'right, ready boys?  We're 'bout to bag us a General," a crude voice whispered.  The hairs on her neck stood up.   _Raiders_.  She crouched low and aimed to where the voice had come from, reflexes firing as adrenaline coursed through her.  Soon, a man decked out in patchwork armor rounded the corner, sweeping a shotgun left to right until his eyes locked with his target!  "She's right here!" he bellowed as he ran forward to get within range.  Veronica acted quickly, taking two clean shots to his head until he fell over backwards.  

As soon as he fell, two more raiders came out, one with another shotgun, and a second with a dagger.  They sneered, practically frothing at the mouth and bloodthirsty.  Quickly, the duo split up, and the young woman with the dagger in a circle around the pair, trying to coax them closer to her mate, who was clearly having trouble lining up a shot.   _Probably Jet_ , Veronica mused.  She swiveled around to get the quickly-approaching target, hoping Sturges could knock out the fumbling rifleman.  As she approached, Veronica could see the sad state she was in, and almost felt sorry for her.  Her hair was unevenly short, as if it had been done with a pair of scissors or a rusty blade.  Her skin was pocked and marked, showing a lifetime of heartache followed by years of drug use.  Veronica could practically see her heartbeat lurching from her thin, frail chest.   _Psycho._  

Her assailant was getting too close for comfort, so the time for pity was long past.  With two shots, the Raider fell to her death, still clutching her weapon.  At first, she thought the next crack was an echo of her shots, common in the city walls.  As she spun around, however, and saw Sturges grab for his abdomen and double over.  She could already seen the red stain spreading through his shirt and onto his coveralls.  The raider sneered, showing his yellowed, decaying teeth.   

All of a sudden, her vision turned red.  It was the same rage she felt as she practically tore Kellogg's throat out.  It was the same rage she felt as she learned about her son's malicious identity.  It was the rage that only someone who has experienced true loss can feel.  She ran forward, heart pumping and blood surging as if she had taken a hit of Psycho.  The raider actually was stunned to see her barreling forward and was slow to bring his rifle back up.  Before he could pull the trigger, Veronica flipped the gun in her hand and bashed his forehead with the butt of the pistol.  He stumbled backwards, tripped on his own feet, and fell onto his back.  His rifle fell out of his hands, and Veronica kicked it aside with her boot before falling onto him.  She didn't just want him to die.  She wanted him to suffer.

Taking the gun, she repeatedly pummeled into his face until the nose and eyes were bleeding and gashes were opening.  So consumed with her hatred, she didn't notice as he pulled his own dagger from his waistband and stabbed it forcibly into her bicep.  She let out a gutteral cry.  Using any remaining energy she had, she pinned his arm down with her arm, gushing hot blood.  With her other arm, she pointed the pistol between his eyes, and pulled the trigger.  The dagger clattered from his hand before the boom finished resounding in her ears.  Immediately, she dropped the pistol and ran over to Sturges, who was now laying back on the ground, clutching at the wound.  Veronica couldn't help but notice that he was already growing pale.

"N-n-no, this isn't happening," she said in a daze, digging through her pack for supplies.  She felt his hand reach for hers and tears started to blur her vision.  Blinking them away, she placed several stimpaks and Med-X on his chest, now rising and falling with rapid breaths.  

"Roni, you're hurt," he whispered hoarsely, gingerly wiping the would with his hand.  Veronica ignored him, unclasping his overalls and pulling them down, and pulling his t-shirt up, exposing the wound.  There was so much blood, and no way to stem the bleeding.  She did the only thing she needed to do, first, she injected a vial of Med-X into his wrist, and watched as his body relaxed.  The slower pulse slowed the blood flow.  Then, she started pricking stimpacks all around the wound, hoping the high dosage would heal external and internal wounds.  

Her own blood loss left her heady and she took a stimpack and jabbed it into her arm, hoping it would stem the flow long enough for her to find help.  Sturges was still fading, and his arm had dropped to his side.  Again, she reached into her bag, grabbing the small flare gun and flare.  She shot it into the air, hoping against all hope that help would come.  At the very least, an enemy would come and put them out of her misery.  Tears were wet and hot against her cheeks as she crawled over to Sturges, whose breathing had become shallow and his eyes were half-lidded.  Sliding under his arm, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.  The tears came easily, wetting his bunched up shirt.  It wasn't out of physical pain, or even emotion over the situation.

She cried because in that moment, she realized that she couldn't imagine life without this man, and now, lying half-dead on the ground of the Commonwealth, it was too late to even have a life together.  Minutes felt like hours and her body became weak.  Eventually she succumbed to darkness, as easily as falling asleep.

* * *

Sturges couldn't feel much pain, only heartache.  This is how it would end, before he even knew who he was.  He could feel Veronica curl her body around his, but didn't have the strength to hold her.  

_Damn, I wish I could have told her how beautiful she is._

With that thought, he slipped into the darkness, leaving his pain behind.

* * *

The next time Veronica came through, she could feel her body moving.  Arms were cradling her, but she was too weak to open her eyes.

"S-s-s-sturges?" she asked with a weak, hoarse voice.

"Don't worry, Professor, we'll be home soon," a familiar voice, full of worry, responded as she faded back out. 

 

 


	10. Hubcap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has left kudos, written comments, and even subscribed to this work! I started this work just to play around with writing fanfiction, but it definitely feels great to have people in my corner. You all are too sweet. 
> 
> As I've looked over the past nine chapters, I've noticed two things I struggle with: 1) Going too quickly through the plot line, and 2) having too little dialogue. I am going to keep these in mind as I write. Hope you like it!

As her mind rose up through the thick, dark ocean of unconsciousness, Veronica noticed two things. One, that she was laying down on what felt like a very sorry excuse for a couch. Two, that there was an unbearable throbbing coming from her arm. Her memories were able to answer for the second sensation. Mental images flickered on the insides of her eyelids. Traveling, raiders, gunfire, and blood. So much blood. Then, darkness.   _Did... did I die?_ Veronica thought to herself.  

"If you died, this is a sorry excuse for Heaven," a familiar, cocky voice murmured, pervading her thoughts.   _Did I say that out loud_ _?_

"Just call me Miss Cleo," the voice said again.  Even in her hazy consciousness, Veronica was able to scrunch her face into a mock sneer.   _Deacon_.  

Veronica felt something shift under her feet.  "The one and only," Deacon said.  It was then that she noticed the hand cradling the back of her head, it's thumb gently rubbing circles onto her temples.  

"How long was I out?" she whispered, voice hoarse.  There was a hiss as a can was opened and then it was being tilted on her lips.  Eyes still shut, she opened her mouth and took several selfish goals of the cool purified water.  

Deacon answered as she heard him place the can down. "Probably not long enough by Carrington's standards, but I personally think you've overstayed your welcome.  My legs are getting stiff," he deadpanned.  He wriggled his thighs and Veronica realized her head was in his lap, and that they were probably in Headquarters.  Despite her inner protest, she ventured to crack her eyes open.  Even that tiny movement was almost too much of a exertion.  Everything hurt.  It took several minutes of trying, but eventually, she opened her eyes, taking in the light of the dim oil lamps spread around the room.  Deacon's head was resting back against the couch, and she could see up behind his signature sunglasses.  His eyes were plagued with dark circles, and there were gentle creases of worry across his forehead.  The wisecracks were just an act.

Her brain started to work through what was going on, and she just hoped Deacon would leave out the exaggerations with his answers.  She was too tired to decipher his code right now.  There were so many questions on the tip of her tongue, but all she could get out was, "How?"

Fortunately for her, he knew what she was asking.  After all their time together working Railroad missions, he probably _could_ read her mind.  "Glory, Des, and I were headed back from gathering some intel in Goodneighbor," he ignored her questioning look, "when we saw the flare.  I only know one person  _stupid_ enough to use a flare in the middle of a Raider-infested city, so I booked it.  Man, you guys looked rough, but you shoulda seen what you did to those Raiders.  The one's face looked a feral got to it.  Almost felt bad for the bastard.  Anyway, being the hero that I am, I grabbed you and started hauling ass back here.  Des and Glory were able to get -"

"Sturges," she whispered, eyes growing wide and tearing up.  She curled her hands into his white t-shirt, grasping so tight that she nearly tore it in two.  "Where is he?" she sobbed.

"Woah there, Grognak, he's here.  He's alright," he said.  His eyes and lips had settled into that passive face that allowed even the most outrageous lie to be transmitted to the unknowing.  Veronica knew that look all too well.  

"Deacon..." she warned as she sat up.  The rush to her head was dizzying and her arm started to throb even more.  She wavered and Deacon leaned over to steady her.  Slowly, she surveyed the room that she called home for a few months.  By all accounts, it looked like any other day.  Tinker Tom was working at his terminal, occasionally mumbling to himself about one thing or another.  Several agents were coming and going, either bring intel in or taking supplies out.  A few people were sleeping in their bunks.  Drummer Boy was propped against the stairway at the entrance, waiting to relay a message.  Des's desk was empty, however, as was Carrington's station.  The doors where PAM worked were shut, which set Veronica's gut twisting with anxiety, and it wrote all over her face.  It didn't take a spy to see that.

"Hey, Drummer Boy," Deacon called over to the young man.  He cleared the room in a few steps and he gave Veronica a weak smile.

"Good to see you awake, Professor," he commented.  Veronica answered with a nod. 

Deacon continued, "Can you go get the boss?  Let her know that her second favorite agent is awake."  He winked as Drummer Boy made an annoyed grunt and hasted off towards the closed door.  The silence was awkward as they waited.  There was a restrained clench in Deacon's jaw, and Veronica could practically hear him grinding his teeth.  Something was wrong, very wrong.  Veronica, for her part, didn't even both trying to hide her worry.  Her hazel eyes were flooded with tears, threatening to spill.  The premature lines on her face were deepening by the second.

After what felt like forever, Desdemona appeared from the closed room, gently shutting the door behind her.  She walked towards the couch, a motherly concern written all over her face.  It was that look that sent the tears overflowing again, and Deacon gripped her around the middle.  Through her blurry tears, Desdemona's face appeared, level with hers.  

"Professor, I had hoped we'd be seeing you soon, but not like this," her smoke-scratched voice murmured.  The Railroad leader wrapped her arms maternally around Veronica's shaking shoulders and pulled her in.  Deacon stood up and disappared, most likely behind the shut door.

"Where is he?  What's happened to him?" Veronica whispered into the fabric of Des's shirt, inhaling the comforting scent of cigarettes and something floral.  Des pulled away and searched Veronica's face, assessing her.

Finally, Des seemed to resign to something and sighed.  "He's here," she said, nodding towards the closed doors."  Veronica made to stand, but Des pushed down on her shoulders, forcing her to sit. 

"Veronica," Veronica stiffened, unaccustomed to hearing Des use her real name, "that shot your friend took was very serious.  He lost a lot of blood on the way here and before we were able to stem the flow, in addition to what he lost before we showed up.  Carrington is doing what he can with our resources, but it's not looking good."  Veronica just stared numbly at her friend.   _I'm still asleep_ , she thought,  _I'm still asleep on the couch, and this is some kind of nightmare from the Med-X_.   _Maybe if I just pinch myself..._  She pinched her good arm, pulling the skin taut until her knuckles were white and the sharp pain was almost unbearable.  Des flickered her eyes down at Veronica's ministrations and quickly intervened, taking Veronica's hands in her own.  

"You are not asleep.  This is very real," she assured, "Now, would you like to see him?  Doctor Carrington is in there and would like to speak with you.  Then, I think he needs to take a look at your arm.  C'mon."  The older woman reached out her hand and helped pull Veronica to standing.  Her legs were still shaky and her body was weak.  As if on queue, an arm wrapped around her waist, and Veronica didn't have time to figure out when Deacon had gotten back.  The three of them walked towards the closed door while Veronica tried to ignore the sympathetic looks from the agents floating around the room.  Des nodded, and with a quaking hand, Veronica pushed open the heavy metal door.

The scene in front of her was a quiet frenzy.  Glory was rummaging through all of the trunks and shelves, searching for all available medical supplies and bringing them to Carrington.  PAM was spouting out medical protocols from her internal databases, providing anything that could be useful.  As for Carrington, he was working over a gurney, checking blood packs and administering chems.  Several agents that Veronica couldn't recognize were standing next to Carrington, handing him items when he asked for them.  The whole thing reminded her of one of those medical dramas she loved to watch while she was on maternity leave.  Except, this wasn't a show.  This was real, and the patient was an actor, it was a man that she only very recently realized that she loved.  The bustling party made it difficult to see much of Sturges, except for his legs.  She realized that he had been stripped to his underwear, his blood-soaked clothes folded on a nearby table.   _The laundry crew is really going to be pretty mad about that_ , she thought oddly.  A nudge at her back told her to step forward, and she did took a few steps, like a fawn taking its first steps.

As she moved towards the gurney, the team looked over there shoulders and with a system of glances and nudges, made room for her to come forward and stand by Sturges' head.  The first thing she thought was how pale he looked.  Sturges had always been tan, skin weathered from the sun.  Now, she could practically trace the veins in his body with her finger.  One wrist was hooked up to a jerry-rigged IV, providing him with blood packs and a bag of clear fluid labeled "MX DRIP."  His breaths were extremely shallow and labored.  The wound was on his lower abdomen, and now clean of blood, she saw a large whole where the bullet had entered and probably been removed from.  The area showed signs of detrimental internal swelling, and Veronica cursed the absence of ice.

Then, there was his face.  For the most part, he just looked like he was sleeping, but Veronica could see the lines on his face, as his body struggled to heal and adapt to the pain.  His forehead was beading with the sweat of a fever and Veronica grabbed a towel from one of the agents and gently dabbed at it.  His lips were pale and cracked from the lack of water.  His dark, long eyelashes contrasted against deep, purple pockets around his eyes.  How she longed for him to open his eyes so she could get lost in them.  Cautiously, as if she might hurt him, she carded a hand through his mussed hair.  It was just as soft as Nate's had been.

"Professor," Carrington broke her from her thoughts and she looked up to see the doctor watching her, eyes fixed in practice composure, "I would like to discuss your friend's care with you.  Please."  He motioned towards a chair behind her, and she sat, scooting until the chair was next to the gurney.  Taking one of Sturges' hands in her own, she nodded at Carrington to continue.

"As you know, this man has lost no trivial amount of blood, and has a great deal of trauma and edema to his internal organs.  He is also showing signs of an infection and is febrile.  We have been supplying him with all of the blood packs that we have, and by my calculation, I am confident that we have enough to resupply his blood levels."  Veronica relaxed slightly.

"Now, as for the edema, we are supplying him a Buffout solution through the IV, as PAM has found pre-War data that steroids can be beneficial in this capacity."  Veronica nodded in agreement, remembering Nate having taken a similar medication when he had broken his arm.

"Then, there's the infection.  We are using stimpacks, but there just isn't any scientific knowledge as to if it can heal against bacteria.  At this point, we just have to wait and see.  I can assure you that we are sterilizing everything in order to prevent any further issues," he continued matter-of-factly.

Veronica squeezed Sturges' hand, grateful that he was in the hands of one of the best doctors in the Commonwealth, but still wishing she had never let him convince her to let him leave Sanctuary.  "Thank you, Carrington.  I-I really can't thank you enough,"  she said.  Carrington gave her a tight smile.

"No need for thanks, Professor.  The Railroad looks out for their own."  Then, he turned back towards his work, examining the contents of the clear bag.

Veronica piped up, "What's that?"  

"It's a little concoction I created.  We've mixed Med-X with purified water for steady administration.  We soaked Sugar Bombs in the water to absorb any sugar we could, so that we can provide him with calories.  The goal is to keep him comfortable, and asleep so that he can heal."

"So... he's in a coma?"  

"Technically, yes, although not as deep as I believe it would have been in your time."  Even in "her time," comas had never been good news, and that was in a world of sterilization and a plethora of medical supplies and knowledge.    

"How- How long?" Veronica muttered, squeezing Sturges' hand.

"If he is able to pull through, we're estimating two to three days.  I want to see the fever gone and at least some of the swelling down before we wake him, but Professor," he sighed, "I can't guarantee anything."

"Can I stay with him?" she asked meekly.

Carrington looked at her again, an uncharacteristic compassion softening his features, "Yes, you may.  At this point, he just needs medication and monitoring, so we can give you some privacy.  Please, though, do let me take a look at your arm."  He rounded the table and she winced as he prodded at her wound.  The small round hole barely stung, but her arm throbbed.  Carrington mumbled something to himself before reaching over to one of the surgical trays.  He injected a vial of Med-X, causing her to hiss at the sting, but dulling the pain slightly.

"Nothing we haven't seen here before, but do let me know if it shows any signs of infection."  He gave her good shoulder a squeeze and motioned for the agents to exit the room.  They complied, Deacon leaving last and gently shutting the door.  The room filled with a heart-breaking silence, save for Sturges' ragged breathing.  

"I love you," she whispered as she scooted closer and nuzzled her head into the crook of his shoulder.


	11. Processor

The first day went by slowly. Veronica kept herself tucked in beside Sturges, listening to his breathing. She still had hold of his hand with one hand, and her other arm was draped over his bare chest. Occasionally she'd drift off into a Med-X-induced nap, only to be awoken by the gentle footsteps of Carrington or an agent coming to check Sturges' vitals and administer chems. At one point, she woke up with a blanket draped across her shoulders and her pack at her feet. Veronica rummaged through it quietly and found a battered copy of a book she had been reading, and started to read aloud, as if he could really hear her, all the while keeping his hand in hers. Sometime after a few chapters, a soft knock came at the door. Deacon came in carrying two chipped plates of food. He padded over and placed them onto a small table and brought a chair over to join her. Settling into his chair, he pressed one of the plates into Veronica's hands, only to be met with an upturned nose.

"I'm not very hungry," she whimpered. Deacon picked up his plate and started to eat at what looked like an iguana stew.

"I hate to tell ya, but this is the Commonwealth.   _Everyone_ is hungry," he scoffed.  Veronica took a proffered spoon and picked absentmindedly at the meal in response.

Deacon started at her through his signature sunglasses, unnerving her.  It was always as if he was trying to see right into her thoughts, as if she were his mark.  After a pause, he did something she had only ever seen him do once.  He took his sunglasses off and hooked them into the collar of his t-shirt.  The only other time he had done that was when he had confided in her about his past.  About Barbara.  His blue eyes were dark with worry, like the ocean during a hurricane.

"Who is he?" he asked simply.

Veronica sighed, not quite ready for the hailstorm of questions she knew that she was in for, but knowing that she couldn't put them off any longer.  With a steadying breath, she started, "Sturges.  He's the mechanic from Sanctuary.  One of the group that I had found in that museum in Concord.  He's pretty much the only reason we even have things like houses and beds and water pumps."

Deacon perked up, "Hold on.  Why does that name sound familiar?"  He looked over at Sturges suspiciously, the wheels of his mind turning almost visibly.  Then, he seemed to realize something and his eyes grew wide.

"Wait," he said almost reverently, "is this the same 'mechanic from Sanctuary' that helped you into the Institute?"  Veronica nodded. 

"Well, color me impressed," Deacon continued, "Must be one hell of a guy."

"Yeah, he is," Veronica whispered, glad Deacon was still using the present tense when describing Sturges.  

"So, who is he?" Deacon asked again, crossing his arms across his chest.

Veronica looked at him in confusion.  "I just told you.  This is Sturges, he's a m-"

"Look, I may be cute, but I'm not dumb," he interrupted, "This guy is more than just one of your settlers."  Veronica flushed, frustrated at how well he could read her.  

"It's... complicated."

He let out a laugh, "I don't know if you've looked around recently, but we're kind of in the middle of a barren nuclear wasteland filled with giant green monsters and lizards that can kill you.   _Everything_ is complicated."

Veronica opened her mouth, trying to figure out what to say.  Once she started, though, it all came flowing out, like an avalanche.

"He's a friend.  Well, more than a friend, but not quite 'more than friends.'  We've always been friends.  He helped me learn how to build up the settlements.  I helped him get his hands on new technology and pieces of Power Armor.  When I told him about finding Shaun, he didn't even hesitate.  He knew building that transporter would put a target on his back with the Institute, but he did it anyway, said every kid should their mom.  And when I was ready," she brushed away a stray tear, "he helped me to bury Nate.  A proper burial."

Deacon smirked, "You've got it bad, kid."

"That's just it.  I never felt that way.  We were just friends.  Getting over Nate has been just... just...." 

"Hell," Deacon finished, with an empathetic look that broke Veronica's heart.

"I never really saw him as anything more than a really good friend, you know?  I  _couldn't_.  Then, I just had a... a  _moment_ in my office, broke down on the spot.  A year and a half's worth of crying, I guess.  And he was just  _there_.  He got me out of there to a place where I could just cry and vent.  We slept together that night," Deacon wagged his eyebrows and Veronica gave his shoulder a playful shrug.  "Not in _that_ way, pervert.  He just held me, and it felt so good to not have to be so goddamn strong for once.  Plus, he even saved me from the nosy settlers with a pretty solid alibi."  Her cheeks flushed and she grinned at the memory, and Deacon wore a shit-eating grin at what the alibi probably was.

"Anyway, I just started to notice it in the little stuff.  He'd just give me this look.  It was so _intense_.  I thought maybe something was wrong, but then I realized that it was... it was how Nate used to look at me."

"Yeah, I know the look.  I used to give it," Deacon offered.

"At first, I didn't know what to do with it.  I mean, I just can't get over Nate, and that's not fair to him, but then, I watch him dying," her eyes pricked with tears, and a sob caught in her throat, "And it was like our potential life flashed before my eyes.  I saw us laying on the riverbank, watching the sunset.  I saw us together, playing with our children and teaching them to survive.  I saw us growing old together."  Her voice got quieter until it was almost imperceptible under the sounds of her crying.  Unsure, Deacon scooted his chair closer and set his hands on her knees.

"I just- what if I never get to tell him I love him?  What if I don't get to say goodbye?" she cried.

Deacon's gave her a tight-lipped look, and she could swear there was the shine of tears in his eyes.   _Of course he understands_ , she thought.  It was as if the stories of their lives ran parallel, just like hers and Sturges'.  They were all wounded lovers, trying to figure out their grief in a war-torn, godless abyss.  He gave her knees a squeeze before standing and swiftly leaving the room, putting back on his sunglasses.

* * *

 

The next morning, Veronica was awoken by Doctor Carrington prodding at her arm, humming contentedly at the healing process.  She looked over at Sturges and was glad to see that he had gained some of the color in his cheeks.  A little bit of dark stubble stood out against his pallor.  

"Do you think I could give him a shave?" Veronica inquired.  Carrington seemed to think it over while he gave Sturges a small exam.

"He certainly seems to be making significant strides.  It appears he's handling the transfusion quite well, and the swelling has gone down about as much as I expected.  I'm hesitant to have anyone near him with a razor, though," he answered vaguely.

Veronica scoffed, "I once shot a feral in right between the eyes from the top of Ticonderoga." 

"I think Deacon is having a bad influence on you," Carrington chided.  He sighed.  "Alright, if you must, we have some shaving supplies in here somewhere, but I need you to come get me the instant he gets even just a nick.  I'll be just outside."  Veronica nodded and started towards the trunks as Carrington changed out the blood packs and took his leave.  After a few minutes of search, she found a fairly unrusted razor, a bar of soap, and a clean rag.  She set out her items on the surgical tray and grabbed a can of purified water from her bag, which she emptied into a beaker.  After wetting her hands, she rubbed the soap, building a lather, and gently swept her hands across his stubble.  Her movements were tender and light.  Once he was properly prepped, she took the razor and leaned in close.  She shuddered as his breath blew warm across her neck.  It took some finagling, but eventually she was able to make careful strokes against the grain, just as she had seen Nate do so many times.  After each stroke, she rinsed the razor in her tiny beaker, and continued the process until his face was once again clean-shaven.  She finished it off by gently drying his face with the towel, wishing she had some aftershave.  She hoped, deep down, that he could feel her touch.

"Nice work, Professor," a voice cooed from the corner.  Startled, Veronica jumped dropping the razor onto the ground.  She scrambled to pick up and realized that she had been so absorbed that she hadn't noticed Desdemona come in.  

"I talked to Deacon," Desdemona stated matter-of-factly as she walked over and lit a cigarette.  She sank into the chair Deacon had occupied the day prior as Veronica cleaned up her materials.  

 _Time for more questions_ , Veronica thought.  She really wished she could have some space until Sturges was awake, but Headquarters was never a good place to get "space."  

Sighing, she plopped into her own chair and looked Desdemona in the eye, hazel meeting hazel.  "Yeah?" 

"So this is the famous Sturges," she praised, "I will have to give him my thanks when he wakes up."   _When_.  Veronica was glad she used "when" instead of "if."  It gave her hope, even if that hope was unfounded.

Grabbing his hand, Veronica nodded in assent.  Des's eyes flickered at the motion.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush and pretend not to know how you feel about him," she assured, "It was evident from the moment we saw you two dying in the street.  You did everything you could for him, Professor, no matter what happens."

Veronica smiled weakly, "Thanks, Des.  I really appreciate that."

Des took a thoughtful drag on her cigarette.  "I had a 'Sturges' in my life once," she confided with a deep breath, "He was another agent, a few years older than myself, and he was Pinky's right hand man, so we didn't speak too much other than the typical small talk.  One day, he needed to retrieve a package down near Jamaica Plains and he asked me to tag along.  I had no idea why.  I was never much with a weapon, and we knew the area was overrun with ferals.  Fortunately, he made up for my lack of skill, and we were able to get the package to a safe location.  After that one, he invited me on op after op.  It took me nearly two years to realize why."  The woman let out a sad laugh, remembering some distant memory.

"We were together a year when I lost him.  Deathclaw," she choked out before looking down and picking at a stray thread on her trousers.  "Don't wait two years to figure out how you feel."

It was unusual for Des to open up like this, but Veronica was glad that she had.  It seemed like everyone around her understood the pain of love and loss.  Deacon had Barbara.  Desdemona had her fellow agent.  Nick had Jenny, even if she was just a memory from his former self.  Macready had Lucy.  Maxson had Sarah.  Sturges had Mel.  She had Nate.  Everyone was still struggling with their losses, but they were also brave enough to fall in love again.  She would be, too, when Sturges woke up.  

 _When_.

There was a long silence.  Des finished her cigarette in silence and Veronica rubbed gently at Sturges' relaxed hand.  Finally, Des snubbed out her cigarette, composed herself, and continued with her questions.

"Now, what I really came in here to find out, was what you two were doing in the middle of the city."

Veronica was almost glad she could relay their mission without Sturges present.  It would be easier without having to give the layman's version of the story.

"We were actually coming to see you," Veronica started.  Des cocked an eyebrow in interest.

"Sturges, has been having 'the dream' lately."  Of course Des would know exactly what dream she was talking about.  Almost all of the synths they encountered that had been wiped had that dream.  "He came to me wanting to know how he could find out.  Of course, there's only  _true_ way to know, but I figured if anyone could get close to an answer, it would be you guys."

Des countered, "We might, but what about the aftermath?  If he doesn't remember his time in the Institute, then he's already been wiped.  What if he finds out, and decides he can't handle knowing.  Doctor Amari has already found that a second wipe can be detrimental to both synth and human brains."

"I mean, it's ultimately his decison, Des, but he would have a great support system back at Sanctuary.  Nick often comes for a visit.  Plus, there's Danse."

"M7-97 is in Sanctuary?" Des asked, surprised.  "I figured the Brotherhood would have eliminated him as a threat.  I take it you were involved?"

"Danse had always been good to me.  I couldn't stand by and watch him be murdered by that bastard kid.  He had a really hard time adjusting at first.  Lost so much weight that I was worried he wouldn't survive, but one day, Nick came through town and pulled himself.  I don't know what was said, but he's doing so much better now," Veronica answered.

Des frowned slightly.  "Still, Professor, I wish you would have sent him to us.  I know you have a good thing going at Sanctuary, but we are more equipped to handle situations like this."

"Are you saying that if Sturges is a synth, he has to stay _here_?" Veronica stammered.  Des smirked.

"As much as I want to say 'yes,' I think your friend here would be much happier in Sanctuary.  With you."  Des's smirk opened into a warm smile, and Veronica found herself smiling back, glad to have such a maternal force in her life, even though they were only a few years apart.

"Now," Des continued, "As for your mission, it turns out you've caught us at a good time."  She stood and walked over to the room's terminal.  Veronica stood and looked over her shoulder as Desdemona tapped away at the keys.  Soon a screen popped up, and Veronica instantly remembered staring at a similar screen in Proctor Quinlan's Prydwen office.  

"How- how did you get ahold of this?" Veronica gasped.  

"Well, it turns out your partner wears those orange jumpsuits pretty well," Des answered, not taking her eyes away from the screen.  "After we got news about M7-97, we decided that that type of technology could be crucial for the Railroad's mission.  All I know is that he managed to infiltrate their lower ranks and come out after a week with the technology in tow.  There was also a mention of sharing a bottle of whiskey with the Maxson and flying a Vertibird solo, but since Deacon is still alive, I'm doubtful of the validity of those statements."  Veronica giggled, starting to feel hopeful.

"Now, we just need to take a small blood sample, with Carrington's approval, and deposit it into here," she pointed to a small metal box attached to the terminal, "As far as Tinker Tom has been able to tell, the box extracts the DNA sequence from the leukocytes and sequences them.  The sequence is run through the database on the terminal, and if there's a match, we should know within a few hours."

"Actually," Carrington's voice interrupted, and both women spun to face him, "now would be your best chance at maximum leukocyte levels, as his body is still fighting the infection.  There will be some muddling from the transfused blood, but the algorithm should go with the greater percentage."  Even with as much schooling as Veronica had gone through, science had always stumped her.  

"One more time for the idiot?" she joked.

Carrington let out an impatient sigh.  "The red part of blood doesn't have DNA, but the part that fights infection does.  Now would be time to take the blood sample, if it's alright with you."  

Veronica took a minute to process what he had just said.  They would be able to answer Sturges' question, right here, in this very room.  While she hated to see him suffering, it seemed like the firefight and the resulting trauma were just another piece to the puzzle he was trying to solve.   _The Commonwealth works in mysterious ways_ , she pondered.

"Okay," she assented, "Take the sample, on condition.  When the result pops up, I want PAM to write it down and erase any evidence from the terminal.  It's not fair for him to be the last to know."

Both individuals nodded readily and immediately moved into action.  As Carrington drew the small vial of blood out of Sturges' arm, she knew he was drawing out an answer that could change his life forever.


	12. Wiring

As soon as Desdemona carefully poured the crimson liquid into the metal box, Veronica knew she needed to leave the room, as much as she didn't want to leave Sturges' side. She also knew that her curiosity would inevitably get the best of her, no matter how good her intentions were. To her surprise, it was Glory that offered to sit with him.  

As was common in Headquarters, word about what was going on spread rapidly before Veronica even realized either Carrington or Desdemona had left the room.  Soon, agents were filtering in and out, wanting be a part of using the new technology.  A few stared at Sturges reverently.  Clearly Deacon had already spread the mechanic's involvement in the Institute's demise, although most likely with an exaggerated twist.  One or two of the recently recovered synths looked at his face and squeezed his arm sympathetically, understanding just how dangerous it still was to be like them.  When Glory came through, Veronica had been pacing back and forth next to the gurney, training her gaze on the floor in front of her feet.

"If you keep pacing like that, we're going to have to replace the floor," Glory rasped with a hint of sarcasm.

Veronica stopped and sighed.  "This is killing me.  I know I said I didn't want to know, but I swear if that damn terminal pings, I don't know if I'm going to be able to stop myself."  Her voice was full of anxiety and disappointment in herself.

Glory walked over and placed her hands on Veronica's shoulders.  "Look, all of us here owe your friend here big time.  Why don't you go clean up a bit?  You smell like ass," she deadpanned.  Raising her arm, Veronica made to smell her armpit and definitely couldn't disagree.

"Look, I'll stay here with your friend.  Carrington says he's not stopping the Med-X until tomorrow night, so I doubt Sturges is waking up anytime soon.  In case he does, though, you know I'm not exactly quiet."  She gave Veronica a wink and playfully shoved her away.  

"Alright, alright, I guess a bath wouldn't hurt, but seriously," Veronica gave her friend a pleading look.

"I know, I know.  You'd be the first to know," Glory said with a genuine smile.  Grateful, Veronica grabbed her pack and headed towards the door as Glory sat down in the chair, arms crossed across her chest.  As Veronica shut the door, she heard Glory, murmuring to Sturges.

"Hey, uh... I'm Glory.  I'm friends with Veronica.  She told me a lot about you..."

Veronica smiled to herself, glad to be surrounded by more true friendship than she ever had before the bombs.

* * *

 

After a good soak and scrub, Veronica felt like an entirely new person.  The tub water was nearly black with all of her travelling grit, and she was able to clean up some of the scabbed blood on her wound.  After dumping the water down a drain next to the abandoned fusion generator, she entered back into the familiar brick room where most of the Railroad were gathered around the cooking stove.  A new synth awaiting relocation, M4-23, was dishing out what looked to be Blamco mixed with diced Cram.  Veronica smiled, remembering that she had mentioned to Deacon that this combination was a guilty pleasure of hers pre-War.  The synth smiled warmly as she walked up and handed her a heaping bowl.  Veronica's stomach growled.

As she plopped down on the floor next to Deacon, her friend raised an eyebrow.  "I thought you weren't hungry," he chided.

Veronica ignored him, shoveling fork fulls into her mouth.  Days of barely eating had caught up to here.  "'M h'ngry," she mumbled through mouthful of food.  Deacon chuckled and turned his attention back to his own bowl.

"I hear the future Mister Professor is taking advantage of the new technology I stumbled upon."  

Rolling her eyes, Veronica quickly swallowed her bite to answer.  "First of all, he's... that's not... his name is Sturges.  Second of all, you didn't stumble upon it.  You stole it."  

"Aw, c'mon, Professor.  You can't honestly believe those tin cans in their hot air balloon had good intentions for that technology."

"No, that's not what I'm saying.  I just can't have people thinking my partner-in-crime has gone lazy," she grinned at him before going back to her meal.  Deacon grinned back and wrapped an arm casually around her shoulders, pulling her close.  She protested half-heartedly, but eventually settled into his side, eating her meal in peace.  He looked down, genuinely happy to see his partner relaxing for the first time since she had been here.

"He's going to wake up.  You know that, right?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, I know."

They finished their food in silence, and when Deacon returned with his seconds, he immediately scraped them into her bowl.  Without complaining, she devoured the second helping before finally laying back with a contented sigh, laying an arm on her stomach.

"I don't think I've been that full in a really long time," she observed.

"Yeah, well I don't see how you can enjoy that stuff.  From what I've learned, you guys had way better food options back in the day."

"I didn't always like it.  My mom was always on my sister and I about our weight, so we mostly grew up on vegetables and low-fat meats.  When I got pregnant, though, all bets were off.  Nothing made me happier than that neon orange cheese and that strange pinkish meat product.  Nate swore Shaun would pop out looking like a can of Cram.  I guess it just reminds me of happier times," she remembered.

"Yeah, I understand.  I got something that reminds me of happier times.  It's called vodka.  Speaking of, you interested?" he produced a half-empty bottle from practically thin air.  

Veronica debated internally for a few minutes, but remembered that Sturges really probably wouldn't be awake any time soon.  An hour or two away wouldn't hurt.

"Sure," she nodded, "The usual spot?"

* * *

 

After carefully picking up the steps of the Old North Church, the duo found themselves in the church steeple, sitting on a pair of lawn chairs they had found during their first mission together.  This had become their place to decompress after some of their more harrowing missions, or even just a place to blow off some steam.  After the Institute had been eliminated, Veronica had left Sanctuary and spent a few days up there, deep in thought.  She appreciated that while Deacon probably knew this, he never brought it up.

Here they were again, decompressing.  Deacon handed her the bottle.  "Ladies first."  

Bracing herself, she opened the bottle and took back a big swig.  It burned like fire through her throat, settling into a glowing warmth in her stomach.  Her eyes stung with tears and she let out a surprised cough.  "Christ, Deacon, what is this, paint thinner?"

Deacon wagged his eyebrows, "Alright, so maybe it's some of Vadim's good stuff.  Still, it ought to do the job.  Bottom's up!"  He had taken the bottle from a surprised Veronica and took down an impressive glug.  They both settled into their chairs to let that first swig mellow.  

"So, let's say we find out lover boy is a synth," he said, ignoring Veronica's glowering look at  _lover boy_ , "What next?"

She shrugged, reaching for the bottle and taking a swig.  "I mean, I don't know.  I can't speak for him, but I don't see how the way I feel about him would change at all.  Would it?"

Deacon reached for the bottle, and took several giant gulps of the searing liquid.  "Look," he answered, suddenly very serious, "When I found out about... Barbara, of course it didn't change how I felt about her.  She was, God, she was everything.  That's not the scary part.  No, the scary part is the way other people are gonna feel about him.  I swear to God, if I'd never been a part of it, I'd never understand the fear of synths.  I still don't understand why I ever was.  But anyway, just, look out for him.  Hell, even if he's not a synth, he could probably use some looking after."

"I know," she thought aloud, "I really do worry how he's going to handle the news.  He's always been such a happy-go-lucky kinda guy.  I'd hate to see something like this break his spirit, you know?  I really don't want to see him suffer the way Danse did."

"'We are healed from suffering only be experiencing it to the full.'" he quoted.

Veronica eyeballed her partner, grabbing the bottle and taking a drink.  "I'm not too drunk to know you didn't just shit that wisdom out of your ass."

Deacon grinned his winning smile.  "Proust, my uneducated friend.  To water it down for you, the only way he's going to get through this is to experience it to the max.  If waking up from a gunshot wound to your ugly mug, and finding out the truth about himself ain't experiencing it to the max, than I don't know what is."  


"Oh shut  _up_ ," Veronica said before she snapped her heads towards the stairwell, with Deacon following suit.  They could hear crashing coming from the church, and the both stood and grabbed for their holstered pistols.  Both were swaying slightly from a combination of alcohol and adrenaline rush.  The crashing turned to footsteps pounding up the steps.  Finally, the door crashed open and they were shocked to see Glory, hands raised in a show of safety.  Both agents dropped their stance, and watched as Glory learned on the doorframe, trying to catch her breath.

"Glory, what is it?" Veronica asked, nervous.

"It's... it's..." Glory was gasping out between breaths, "He's.... he's..."

Veronica immediately pushed past Glory and started tearing down the steps, taking two at a time, before she had a chance to let Glory finish her sentence.

 


	13. Glass

As she tore through the tunnels of the church's crypt, her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her stomach sloshed with stomach acid and burning moonshine. Each breath never felt like enough to keep her body propelling forward.

And propelling towards _what_ exactly?

Halfway through the battered sanctuary, Veronica realized that she hadn't even paused long enough to let Glory finish her sentence. She could be running into anything.   _He's... he's... awake?  He's... he's... dying?   He's... he's... dead?_ Her hope, however dim, kept her moving, and as she rounded into the entrance to Headquarters and fumbled down the steps, she could hear Deacon's light footsteps stopping behind her.  Veronica came to a full halt in the oil lit glow of the main room, where every agent had stopped their nightly routines to see the commotion.  Glancing over, she noticed that the doors to Sturges' room were slightly ajar.  Desdemona was leaning against her desk, smoking a cigarette, and when Veronica came crashing in, she immediately walked over, motioning for Carrington to follow suit.

Veronica bent over, grabbing her knees and grasping for breath.  For the split second that she had seen it, Des's look had been so concerned.   _Too_ concerned.  Her stomach threatened to splash its contents on her boots.  She felt Deacon rub her back gently as Desdemona began to speak.

"Professor, it's okay," she murmured, placing a gentle hand on Veronica's heaving shoulder, "He's okay."  Veronica squeezed her eyes shut, stemming the flow of hot tears of relief.  Spitting bile onto the ground, she straightened up and wiped her quivering mouth.  Her eyes flickered towards Carrington, her look speaking a multitude of questions.  

"He's awake," Carrington informed.  Veronica's eyes went wide with alarm.  "But- what- how did this happen?  He's not ready.  You said-"

"You're correct.  He's not ready.  From what I can surmise, as his body healed and his blood levels increased, he started to metabolize more Med-X than we initially anticipated.  Of course, I have recalculated the formula based on these parameters and PAM is currently mixing a fresh fluid with the correct proportions," he stated.

"And what about-"

Desdemona interrupted, "PAM has already downloaded the information from the terminal.  She's removed the program holotape and the sequencer to an undisclosed location.  She'll be ready when Sturges is ready."  

"Is he... still awake?" Veronica whispered.

Desdemona and Carrington shared a look that seemed to communicate something before Carrington spoke up.  "Yes, he is still awake.  While I'd like to get him back to resting as soon as possible, Desdemona has made it clear that you have things you may want to discuss with him before we reintroduce the IV."  Desdemona gave Veronica a warm, understanding look, and in that moment, Veronica felt flooded with gratitude.  

Shaking her head, she answered, "Yes, yes I want to see him."  Her body shook with anxiety and excitement as Deacon walked her over to the door.  Once they reached it, he looked back at all of the agents, stock still as if they were a photograph.  

"Show's over, folks," he chided, and they all jumped, broken from their spell, and continued with their previous activities, although Veronica could still feel their stares on her back.

"You ready, partner?" he asked, his look of concern coming through, even past his sunglasses.

Veronica nodded slightly.  "Yeah," she whispered.  Deacon gave her a shoulder a squeeze before walking back to find Glory.  Heart pounding, palms sweating, Veronica cracked the door open until she could barely slip her body through, and then pressed it closed behind her.  Sturges still lay on the gurney, and to her surprise, he had regained even more color since she left just a couple of hours ago.  His chest was moving more rapidly without the sedating effects of the Med-X.  Slowly, she stepped towards him, as if she were afraid of what she would see.  

"Hello?" his voice gasped out weakly, "Someone there?  Please..."  Veronica closed the gap between them swiftly, grabbing one of his hands, and moving her face into his view.  His eyes were full of fear, but slowly, they melted into recognition.

"Roni?" he rasped out, "Roni..."  Veronica smiled as fresh, shiny tears streaked down her cheeks, dropping onto his bare chest, getting caught in a bed of soft, dark hair.

"It's me, Sturges.  I'm here."

"What... what happened?  Where am I?  I thought... I thought..."  

"The Railroad found us.  They saved you.  Saved us," she answered.  He groaned and his free hand weakly reached for where his abdomen was still swollen around the bullet wound.  The Med-X was starting to wear off, and the pain was starting to return.

"Sssh..." Veronica cooed, reaching across his bare body to gently hold his other hand.  "I don't have much time.  You're safe, but in a few minutes, you're going to fall back asleep.  Sturges, can you hear me?"

He gently squeezed her hands and nodded.  His focus was swimming in and out of consciousness.

"Sturges, I... I wanted you to know something," she said as she bent so that her face was nearly touching his.  "I love you.  I love you, and I need you to get through this.  I  _need_ you."  Her tears were starting to drop onto his cheeks as she gazed into his face.  He released his hand from hers and slowly, painstakingly came up to cup her jaw.  She leaned into his gentle touch.

"I love you, too, Roni," he whispered as he pulled her close, their lips joining in a gentle kiss.  His lips were calloused and rough against hers.  She released his hands and wrapped her arms around his torso as best as she could, and as she pulled away from the kiss, she set her head onto his chest.  He noticeably relaxed and wrapped his arms around her waist.  

Even though she heard the door open, Veronica stayed in her position, not ready to let go, even if it was only for another day.  A deep voice cleared its throat.

"Sturges, has she explained to you what is happening next?" Carrington asked clinically, ignoring the sentimental moment.

"I guess so.  Gonna go back to bed for a little while, right?"

"Correct.  I'll be putting you back on a drip containing a high dosage of Med-X and as best of a nutritional supplement as the Commonwealth can offer.  Please hold still, you'll feel a sharp sting as I reinsert the needle."  There was a rustle of movement as Carrington gingerly moved Sturges' arm from around her waist, and then Veronica heard Sturges hiss as the needle was put back into his arm.  Carrington's hand was squeezing the rubber tubing, preventing the flow of fluid.

"Are you ready?" Carrington asked.

Sturges looked back up at Veronica, taking her in.  "Thanks for givin' me somethin' to dream about.  'Night, angel," he murmured as Carrington released the fluid.  Veronica watched as his eyes fluttered shut and his remaining arm around her waist grew slack.  

"See you in the morning, handsome," she breathed as she kissed him his flushed cheek before untangling herself.  

With a slight flush of embarrassment, Veronica stood to address Carrington, who she was surprised was watching the scene with a look of compassion.

"Thank you," she said as she settled into her chair for another night of fitful sleep.

* * *

 When she awoke the next morning, it was to a young agent preparing to inject Sturges with another stimpack.  Veronica watched him through drowsy eyes.  He couldn't have been more than 18 years old, wiry in frame, with nervous green eyes.  His fiery red hair would have given Deacon's a run for its money, if he had let it grow out.  His hands shook slightly as he removed the protective cap and lined the needle up to the swollen skin on Sturges' abdomen.  

"Hey," she murmured.  The agent was so startled that he nearly dropped the stimpack, and his tan cheeks flushed red.  

"S-s-sorry, ma'am.  I didn't mean to wake you," he quaked, "Carrington asked me to come in and tend to the patient."  

Veronica smiled disarmingly.  "You're not going to hurt him, trust me.  He's out like a light."

He gave a nervous laugh, and she was relieved to see his hands start to calm as he adjusted the stimpack's position and pushed down on the plunger.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said as he placed the empty syringe onto a surgical tray.  "By the way, Desdemona asked if you could go see her, if you're awake, ma'am."  He was wringing his hands nervously.   _Poor kid_ , she thought.  

Veronica sat up and addressed him gently.  "What's your name?"

"Oh, uh, X4-28, although Desdemona has told me that it would be useful to find a more suitable name for myself."

"Any leads?" Veronica asked, feeling a sort of motherly instinct towards the abandoned synth.

"Well," he started, "I really like the name Watson, ma'am."  His expression asked for her approval, and she could see the little boy inside, desperately seeking for a mother's love.  Her heart broke, as she was a mother, who would always be seeking for a little child to love.

"I think it suits you,  _Watson_.  It's certainly a unique name.  How did you come across it?"  Immediately, a toothy grin spread across his face.  A smile of pride.

"I worked in BioScience under Mr. Holdren.  We learned that the shape of DNA was discovered by a pre-War scientist named Mr. Watson, and DNA extraction and purification was my specialty."

Veronica was torn between he forever hatred of the Institute's work, and her love for the many synths that she held dear as friends.  Fortunately in her life, love triumphed over all evils.  

"That's a wonderful choice," she beamed, "Now, then, you seem like a smart young man.  Why would you be nervous doing something as simple as administering medicine?"

"It's just... I know about you, and Mr. Sturges, and your role in ending the Institute.  While I never minded what I did there, I always wanted to see the Commonwealth.  Maybe do something... _fun._ I, well, really all of us, owe you two so much.  I'd hate to be the one that hurt one of our heroes," he stammered.  Veronica stood, stretching out the kinks that came from sleeping in a chair.

"You did perfectly fine.  Now, c'mon, let's go find you some breakfast so I can find Desdemona," she beamed, giving Sturges' forehead a gentle kiss and heading out the doors of the room.

* * *

 

Deacon sat on the couch, watching Veronica and the newest synth recruit emerge from the room.  His signature sunglasses were hiding the dark circles and his red, blood-shot eyes.  If anyone bothered to come close to him, they'd be able to smell the antiseptic smell of stale moonshine on his breath.  The empty bottle was laying at his feet.  It had been a rough night.  Hell, it had been a rough few days, ever since he found them lying in the street, clutching to life and to each other.  

He had barely noticed the man.  All he could see was the beautiful woman in his arms, with dried tears staining her perfect face and blood pouring from her arm.  It was selfish, but he had relished the way her breath fell against his neck as he carried her.  He had craved the way she clutched at him when she woke up, even thought it was only to call another man's name.  He had been scared by how much he loved her, his partner, and by how he had almost lost her without telling her, but it was already too late.  She clearly had someone else.

When he first saw Sturges, something inside his stomach had stirred.  Something about his broad build and dark, pompadour hair reminded Deacon of something from his past, something dark.  He had pushed it out of his mind, figuring he was mistaken.  Veronica would never tangle herself up with someone like  _that_.

Last night, though, he heard the stranger's murmuring voice through the doorway, as Veronica went to him, and remembered hearing that deep rumble before, years ago, although it had been hateful scream instead of a loving murmur.  Deacon knew he wasn't mistaken.  This "Sturges" was the man who had taken so much from him, and now, he was going to take away Veronica.  Even moonshine couldn't dull the pain.

As he saw Veronica hand the nervous new synth a snack cake from the pantry supply and walk towards Des's desk, he stood.   _I've got to talk to her_ , he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is a little choppy, in my opinion, but I'm trying to lead into something that will take the story for a HUGE turn.


	14. Rubber

As he was nearing Veronica, his field of vision was suddenly filled with pale skin, freckles, and a shock of red hair.   _New kid, former synth, knows medicine, hates Blamco_ , Deacon internally rattled down the list of facts he knew about the Railroad's latest save.  Externally, he scowled.  The young kid seemed to crumble slightly, but he didn't move out of the way.

"Deacon, right?" Watson asked meekly, big round eyes full of trepidation and shyness.   _Like a scared puppy.  All he needs is the ears and tail_ , Deacon thought.  He responded with a noncommittal grunt.  Over the kid's shoulder, Deacon watched Veronica sit down across from Des at the desk and prop her feet up on the table.  The Railroad leader murmured something and Veronica blushed, suppressing a dopey, love-struck grin with her palm.  It was the first time in the past few days that he had seen her so relaxed, so at ease.  Hell, he really hadn't seen her this relaxed since she shakily stepped out of that Vault.   _What's she going to look like when I tell her the truth?_

"Sir?" Deacon looked back at the kid, who was now holding out a package of Fancy Lads snack cakes.  He arched a questioning eyebrow at the proffered gift.

"What?  You showin' me that you figured out where Mom hides the cookie jar?"  

Watson flushed slightly, his hands shook, and he stumbled over his response.  "N-n-no, sir.  Miss Professor asked me to make sure I got you something to eat.  Said that these were your favorite," Watson answered, voice cowering like Deacon had rolled up a newspaper and hit him.   _I gotta ease up on this one_ , he thought.  

Taking the snack cakes, Deacon flashed a toothy - albeit fake - smile at Watson, who reciprocated with a set of perfectly clean, shiny teeth.

"With teeth like that, you must be a synth," Deacon said in a voice a little louder than was necessary, "You've come to the right place then, my friend."  Deacon watched as Veronica's ears perked up at his words and she looked over at the pair.   _Be nice_ , she mouthed jokingly.  In response, Deacon gave her a mock salute, which she silently giggled at.  Watson looked up at him with a questioning look, but was too shy to ask about it.  The conversation with his partner would have to wait, so he might as well see what new Commonwealth secrets he could learn from the new guy. 

* * *

 As she approached, Desdemona looked up from the message she was writing.  Veronica could see that it was in the cryptic code language that the Railroad often used.  She had tried desperately to learn it, but eventually gave up after translating "packages" as "bunnies."  Deacon had never let her live that one down.  

Des indicated to the chair across the desk from where she was sitting, and Veronica took a seat, stretching out her legs, which were aching from nights of sleeping in a chair.  Veronica laced her hands behind her head and leaned back.  For the first time in a long time she just felt... comfortable.  Like she was finally starting to belong in this strange world that she found herself practically leading.

"Well," Des murmured conspiratorially, "Carrington tells me you were able to transmit the necessary message."  Veronica blushed and tried to hide her grin behind a palm.  God, it was like being in high school all over again, where crushes made your heart race and your friends wanted to know who you _like_ liked.  

"Something like that," Veronica answered.  Des sat back, mirroring Veronica's relaxed stance, clearly enjoying this rare moment of downtime.   

"I'm glad.  I'm also glad you seem to have made friends with the newest package-"

"-Watson," Veronica interjected.

"Watson," Des repeated back, nodding her head as if mulling it over, "I like it.  Somehow it seems to suit him."

They both looked over to find the poor kid being razzed by their favorite snarky spy.  Veronica grabbed his eye over the scrawny shoulder and mouthed,  _Be nice!_ Deacon rolled his eyes, sparkling with amusement, and gave her a mock salute.  Veronica giggled and turned back towards Des.

"I swear, I'd trust that asshole with my life, but I still can't trust him to play nice," Veronica joked.  Des grinned and leaned forward on the desk, dropping her volume a few decibels.  

"Look, Professor.  As I'm sure your aware, Sturges will be fully awake tomorrow.  Have you... thought into what happens next?"

Veronica leaned forward, considering her question.  She thought about watching those dark lashes blink apart and falling into those bottomless eyes.  She thought about hearing his voice, and all of the words she hoped he'd say.  She thought about kissing him with all of the time in the world ahead of them.  After that though?  She hadn't thought about anything.  She hadn't considered what they would do with the verdict from PAM.  She hadn't thought about where they would travel to next, or if they would just head back to Sanctuary.  She didn't know how she'd explain the Railroad to him, without spilling too much information, even as he sat within it's very Headquarters.

"I'm guessing by that very blank expression that you haven't," Des remarked as she tapped another cigarette out of her pack and lit it with a flourish.  

"I mean, what is there to think about?  He wakes up, PAM tells us the big news, and we go home.  Whatever aftermath there is to deal with, I'm sure we'll be able to handle it.  Hell, Des, it's not like we're thriving in a nuclear apocalypse or anything!"  If there was anything that Veronica truly hated, it was being challenged.  She was pretty damn proud of what she'd built since coming out of a literal human freezer.  What was one more challenge?

Des smirked, admiring Veronica's tenaciousness, but she leaned forward again, ashing a cigarette.  "Look, Professor, you're probably one of the most capable people I know.  God knows the Railroad wouldn't have made it this far without you, but this isn't your area of expertise.  But that's okay!" she added as Veronica scoffed and crossed her arms.  "All I'm saying, is that  _if_ Sturges does come up as a synth, it raises a lot of questions, and I'm here to help you both through them.  That's why you brought him  _here_ , isn't it?"

Veronica let out a sigh.  "I mean, yeah, it is.  But, what kinds of questions are we talking about?"  Her voice regained the pitch of anxiety that it hadn't reached since Sturges spoke to her in the darkness of his garage apartment.  

"Well, what do you know about Sturges' past?"

Veronica's brow furrowed as she tried to remember anything he might have relayed, but came up blank.  They mostly talked about the present and the future, other than her explaining the original uses of some of the junk items that they found.  She shrugged.  "He's never really talked about it much," she offered.

Des let out a hum as she took in the response, "If he's a synth, and he did have the wipe, he wouldn't have any memories other than what he's created since the wipe.  Everything else would just be... blissfully blank."

"Would he remember his family?  Mom?  Dad?...  Another woman?"  Her voice got thoughtfully quiet at that last thought.  What if he had had someone else before becoming a synth?  Would she still be looking for him?

Somehow, Des seemed to be able to see into her thoughts.  "Even if there was another woman, in his prior life before becoming a synth, he wouldn't remember any of it.  Even if he hadn't had the wipe.  The Institute would have built his body and brain from his DNA structure, with optimization, of course.  Any personality, thoughts, or ideas would come solely from his genetics.  Just like  _you_ being a worrywart is built into your DNA."  

 

"What about Nick?  He seems to remember his previous life," Veronica offered.

"Nick is a very special case," Des explained, "In all my time here, I've never encountered another synth who knew about their previous life."

Veronica's lips turned downwards, running out of questions, which meant she was running out of answers as to what she'd do when Sturges woke up.  "Do you think he'd want to know about his previous life?  Before the Institute?"

Des seemed to genuinely consider the idea.  "Perhaps," she answered, "If it were possible.  It might be painful, though.  Imagine knowing you had a family, friends, and a life.  Then, it was all taken away from you.  Wouldn't it be painful to remember?"

"Yeah," Veronica whispered, knowing exactly how painful that is to remember.  She had to remember about the life that was ripped from her everyday.  "What about their time in the Institute?  Why do they wipe that away?  Don't they get confused when they can't remember their parents?  Or where they were born?"  

"Trust me, Professor, most people don't want to remember what happened inside the Institute," Glory's husky voice mumbled behind her.  Veronica turned to see Glory standing behind her chair, arms defensively crossing her chest, as if the Institute would pop out of the walls and take her away.  "What some people went through down there... it's torture.  I once watched a synth get ordered to burn another synth alive, because one of the Quality Control people found her 'defective.'"

"Then, why didn't you get the wipe?" Veronica asked.

"Because I wanted to remember exactly who I was fighting," she answered solemnly.  The three grew silent as the chatter and activity of Headquarters bustled.  With so many new synths, they had a lot of extra hands around, but it definitely took away from the peace and quiet these walls once new.  Glory shifted between her feet for a few minutes before walking off to the weapons bench to fix the newest batch of recovered weapons.  Veronica saw that as a sign and stood up to take her leave.  Des looked up and offered up one more piece of advice.

"Remember, Professor, that no matter what you find out about him, you fell in love with him for who he is now, not who he used to be."  For some reason, something about the statement sounded like a dark omen, and Veronica's stomach turned sour at the thought as she walked away to busy herself for one more day.

* * *

 

The rest of the day was a myriad of menial tasks, all with the intention of taking her thoughts off of tomorrow, and what it might bring.  The first task was to try and remove all of the blood from their travel clothes, and mend the bullet holes and scratches.  Fortunately, Watson proved to be a helpful companion, and offered a variety of chemical solutions to her laundering problem.  Within an hour, the clothes were dripping dry from nails in the wall, as clean as they could possibly be.  Watson was searching trunks for a needle and thread to fix the small gashes.

There was also work to be done for the Railroad.  Tinker Tom needed some assistance bypassing the security protocols on some new holotapes that had been discovered.  Carrington needed new chems brewed to make up for the significant amount that had been used the past few days.  Des needed Veronica to take over cooking dinner duty so that the agent who normally did it could run on a job.  So absorbed in busy work, Veronica didn't notice Deacon, lurking in the shadows, watching her every move, willing himself to come out and talk to her.  

Veronica also took a chance to radio in to Preston, who was undoubtedly worried.  By her calculation, they should have been home today, but to explain their extended absence would be to reveal their true purpose for travelling.  With a knot of guilt in her throat, she made up some story about the doctor needing to gather supplies for the procedure before they could begin.  Lying to someone who she saw as one of her closest confidants was just as painful as it was a few days ago, and she couldn't wait to get back and explain everything to him.  She just hoped he'd understand.

"How's Sturges liking travelling?" his voice crackled through the radio.

Veronica frowned, glad he couldn't see her, "Oh, uh, fine.  He's just... resting right now."  It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth.

She heard Preston let out a small chuckle.  "Well, you two be safe.  But seriously, General, take your time.  We've got everything under control," he relayed with a leader's confidence.

The radio static came to a stop as he stopped the transmission, and Veronica sat back in her chair.  That's when she heard footsteps gently walk up to her and cool hands cover her eyes.

"Guess who," that familiar, snarky voice cooed.

"Well, if it's not Deacon, then someone is about to get seriously bruised," she groaned.  The hands went away and a sheepish Deacon walked in front of her chair and knelt down, hands up defensively.

"Woah there, killer.  Someone have a busy day?" 

"You could say that.  Busy day.  Busy week.  Busy year and a half," she rubbed her eyes and yawned, "I just need a proper night's sleep."  

Deacon fidgeted, something Veronica rarely saw him do.

"Everything okay there, partner?  You don't look as... serene as you normally do," she worried.

Immediately he stopped and ran his hand through his hair.  He paused for a few moments before letting out a sigh and answering.  "Yeah, you know, I had something to ask you about, but it's not super important.  I think you should probably get some sleep before Lover Boy in there wakes up."  Deacon stuck out his tongue, resuming his playful composure and helped Veronica stand up.  

"You sure?" she asked.

"Absolutely!  You need your beauty sleep.  Maybe a beauty bath.  And a beauty change of clothes," he joked.  She smacked him playfully in the shoulder as they walked towards Sturges' room.  "Alright, alright.  Just the beauty sleep."  Veronica smiled and gave him a warm hug before wishing him goodnight.

Entering the room, the first thing that Veronica noticed was the Carrington was in the room, injecting a few Stimpacks and checking Sturges' vitals.  The second was that a second gurney had been layed alongside his, made up like a cot.  Carrington looked up at her as she crossed the room and leaned on the second gurney.  

"Got another raider attack victim coming in?" she quipped.  

"Not unless you're planning on getting into a one-on-one raider fight before bed," he answered.  Seeing her look of confusion, he continued, "It's for you.  It was Watson's idea.  You could use a more comfortable night's sleep, and this way, Sturges' might have some... comfort when he wakes up."  Veronica watched as Carrington visibly struggled to talk about anything remotely resembling love and emotion.  Still, it was hard to hide her gratitude as she peeled off her boots and climbed onto the gurney, snuggling against Sturges' side.  Amazingly, his color had returned to almost completely normal, and the swelling around his abdomen was gone.  A simple dressing had been applied to the wound.  No matter what happened tomorrow, at least he would be alive to see it.

"Now, for the final touch," Carrington said as he reached for Sturges' arm.  Gently, he pulled out the IV needle and set it and its bag onto a surgical tray.  "He will gently come out of his comatose state through the night.  Somewhere around morning, he'll start to rouse.  Just please make sure to keep him in bed.  I need to take a look at that wound one more time before he attempts standing.  I'll be in in the morning to check on him."  
  


"Thank you, Carrington.  For everything," Veronica murmured with heartfelt gratitude.

Carrington gave a simple nod and left the room, shutting the door behind him.  Veronica took a minute to drape the blanket over the two of them.  She wrapped his close arm around her back, and stretched her own arm across his chest.  

"Good night, handsome," she whispered into his side as she settled down for a restful night.


	15. Monitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Calling all artists! I'm looking for someone to do a commissioned piece of Roni and Sturges for this fic! If you're interested, comment, and I'll get with you!

Consciousness didn't trickle back.  It gushed back until Sturges' eyes snapped open, looking up a brick ceiling, flat on his back.   _What the hell?_

Then, like consciousness had, a flood of memories burst through the floodgate of the rapidly dissipating Med-X.  Travelling, raiders, pain, and darkness tinged the edges of the more recent memories.   _Roni?  What happened to Roni?_

More slowly, a hazy memory emerged.  Two hazel eyes looking straight into his heart, the smell of familiar hubflower perfume, words like "love" and "need."  There was a doctor, and he had gone back to sleep.  As if to answer for the doctor, a dull ache started at the bottom of his abdomen and he let out a groan.  " _Fuck,_ " he hissed.  Something next to him stirred, and it was only then that he noticed the arm draped across his chest, and the warmth pressed against his side.  His head felt like a lead weight as he rolled his neck to look upon a sight that made his heart swell in his chest.

Roni was nestled up into his side, clutching protectively at his body.  At the movement, she had looked up at him, eyes half-lidded with sleep.  The corner of Sturges' lip twitched at the sight of her short hair, which was sticking up in all directions.

"Good morning," she said sleepily, giving his body a light squeeze.  

"Well if that ain't an understatement," he smiled, voice hoarse.  Roni's brow scrunched and she reluctantly let go of him and got off the bed, leaving him missing the warmth and comfort, leaving him wondering if this was some kind of fever dream.  His eyes drifted shut to the sound of her rummaging through something and then he heard the familiar hiss of a purified water can.

"Here, drink this," she commanded softly, bringing the can to his lips.  He complied, realizing for the first time how raw and cracked his throat felt.   _How long have I been out?  Where the hell are we?  And what the hell hurts so much?_

Roni leaned over him and soothed her hand over his brow.  "Ssshh... it's okay," she cooed.  "You're safe."  Sturges pressed into her touch, personally vowing to never be gone from her again.   _Some fella I am.  We end up in trouble and_ I'm _the damsel in distress._

He felt her resume her original position, and tried to roll over onto his side to face her, but the pain ripped through his torso as he made the effort. 

"Hey, hey, stop that," Roni murmured, helping him get back to laying on his back.

"Sorry.  Just wanted to look at ya.  That's all," he replied sheepishly.  He watched as a flush came over her face.  God, he could watch that a thousand times.  Sturges watched in surprise as she propped up and rolled over onto him, place a knee on either side of his hips, and sitting back gently onto his thighs.  Each of her hands laced into one of his.

"There.  That better?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"Well, dang, Roni.  I just woke up, but if you give me a second..."  Veronica unlaced one of his hands and playfully bat at his shoulder.

"Ow!  Hey!  I'm hurt.  I was just jokin'!" he laughed. 

* * *

 Veronica giggled and looked down at Sturges, feeling a mixture of excitement and anxiety.  Here they were, two lovebirds starting their flight together in life towards an unknown horizon.  She took his hand again and readied herself for the questions he must have.  

"Alright, my mind's a bit fuzzy, so I'm gonna need you to fill in some blanks here for me," he drawled, "First, what the hell happened out there?"

"Raiders.  I was trying to take out the one with the knife, but... I hesitated, and I-I'm so sorry, Sturges.  If I had done it sooner-"

"Hey, now," he cooed, gently squeezing her hands, "I ain't gonna say I'm  _glad_ I got shot, but least it wasn't you."

Veronica smiled warmly, purposefully leaving out the part about her arm.  

"Okay, so I got shot.  Last thing I remember is getting stuck with about a year's worth of stimpacks."

"I sent up a flare, and fortunately for us, the Railroad was in the right place at the right time.  They brought us back here, and they helped patch you up.  You took a pretty nasty bullet to the stomach."  

Sturges seemed to digest this information before giving her a frown.  "Wait.  The Railroad?  Ain't they who-?"  
  


"Yes."

"And have they-"

"Yes."

"So am I-?"

"I don't know," Veronica answered honestly.  "They have the same software that was used by the Brotherhood.  When the result came up, someone gathered the result, but they haven't informed any of us yet.  We wanted to wait for you."  She carded a hand through his hair.

"Well, then.  When can we find out?" he asked impatiently.  Now it was Veronica's turn to frown.

"Sturges, what if you are?"

"Well, then I am," he stated matter-of-factly.

"No,  _seriously_.  What if there's more to your story than you know about?" Veronica said, flustered at his blase attitude.  

He was hesitant to ask.  "What 'more,' exactly?"

"If you really are a synth, you must have chosen to have the wipe," Veronica answered.

Sturges seemed to mull this over.  "If I chose to have it wiped, there's probably something I don't particularly want to remember," he answered simply.

"Doesn't that scare you?" Veronica whispered.

"Does it scare _you_?"  He had cocked an eyebrow defiantly, but everything else in his face conveying worry.

"Well, what about a previous life?  What if you had a family?  A... wife?"  

Sturges snorted.  "I never took you for the jealous type.  Look, Roni, I'm a 'take it as it comes' kinda guy.  We're just going to have to take it one step at a time," he soothed.  He squeezed her hands and pursed his lips.  Veronica smiled and leaned over, kissing him softly.  She felt his lips curve into a smile under hers, and as his hands left hers and smoothed down her back to land on her hips.  Their lips became more desperate more searching.  They said so many things unspoken.   _I'm scared.  I never thought I'd see you again.  Please don't go._

"Ahem," a voice in the room cleared its throat and the two snapped apart, both of them flush with embarrassment.  Veronica rolled herself off of Sturges and looked at Carrington, who was flanked by Des, Deacon, Glory, and just about every other available agent, who all seemed to mimic their embarrassed flush.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but the patient needs to be cleared before any physical activity," Carrington said with a tinge of sarcasm.  

Veronica murmured an apology as the party moved forward.  She watched as Carrington checked the wound and changed the dressed and palpated the surrounding area.  He checked a few of Sturges' reflexes and vital signs before comparing them to the ones written on his clipboard.

"Well, Sturges, it appears you've made quite the miraculous recovery, if miracles include nearly an entire pharmacy of chems.  Regardless, everything appears to be fine," Carrington clipped.  "It's going to be painful, but you should try getting some walking in before your muscles start to atrophy.  I can recommend some Med-X for the pain, but only as absolutely needed.  If there's any sign of infection, you'll need to apply more stimpacks, but otherwise, you're cleared."  Carrington reached out a hand, and with the help of another agent, and a slew of curses from Sturges, got the man to sitting.

"Well it ain't so bad once you finally get up," Sturges joked.  "Seriously, doc, I can't thank you enough."  Sturges reached out and Carrington met his hand with a hearty shake.

"Any friend of Professor's is a friend of mine," he answered genuinely.  "Now, as I believe the there is other business to attend to, I'll take my leave."  Swiftly, Carrington left the room, with the other agents, leaving just Des, Deacon, Glory, and PAM.

"Awful lot of new faces," Sturges laughed.  The group shared a network of looks.

Des spoke up.  "Sturges, my name is Desdemona.  I'm the leader of the Railroad."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am."

"The please is all mine, I assure you.  Professor has told us told us about your involvement with the Institute's demise.  We owe you a debt of gratitude."

"Why d'ya keep callin' her that?  Professor?"  Sturges asked.  Veronica smiled and leaned over to whisper into his ear, "Don't ask questions."

"Professor has made your intentions for coming here clear, and fortunately we have been able to utilize our resources to answer your question.  We have also offered our services to help you with whatever outcome may arise," Des continued.  "Now... are you ready, Sturges?"  Sturges looked over at Veronica, eyes full of question, and took her hand in his.  Veronica smiled at him in response and Sturges turned back to Desdemona.  

"Yes, ma'am," he answered simply.

"PAM!" Des called, and the assaultron walked through the doors.

Once she reached the group, Des informed her of the decision.  The robot audibly whirred, as if searching the most inner depths of their files for the required information.  Finally, she became quiet and turned her head towards Sturges on the gurney before speaking in her loud, fragmented speech.

"Loading data file: E47602.  Complete."

"Translating file language.  Complete."

"Transmitting output."

"Subject sample ran through Institute Genetic Sequencing Database."

"1 match detected."  The entire room's eyes went wide and they collectively held their breath.

"Subject identified as name, X9-78.  Classification level, synth.  Division, Facilities.  Status, Unknown."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Anyone who has looked at Sturges' Wiki isn't exactly shocked by this news, but I promise you that we're going to learn more about his history, and the truth about his past may just shock you.


	16. Wheel

The whole room fell silent, each processing the new information. As for PAM, she could be heard whirring again. Her mechanical limbs trembled slighly as her movement program loaded, and she slowly made her exit from the room as six pairs of eyes followed. Veronica slowly looked over at Sturges' to gauge his reaction and found that she couldn't. He sat with a blank stare, looking down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. She watched as he pinched his arm until the skin turned white, and intervened, by gently taking one of his hands in hers. Slowly, he turned his head to face her, and the emotionless eyes filled with a mixture of relief and sadness.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, speaking as if nobody else were in the room with them.

"I'll be alright.  Just a little shocked is all," he replied giving her a weak smile, "S'long as I have you, I think I'll be alright."

"Oh  _yuck_ ," Glory exclaimed, breaking the moment, while giving a convincing mime of puking on her boots.  Veronica rolled her eyes and turned to look back towards the group.  Her eyes met with Des, who looked back with concern written along the furrows of her brow.

"What is it Des?" she asked.  The leader made a worried hum in her throat.  

"It's just... his designation is a bit... odd," Des offered.

"How so?" Sturges piped up, his love-struck expression starting to mirror the concern on her face.

"Well, if our intelligence is correct, any designations starting with the letter 'x' tend to be..." she trailed off and her eyes darted down to the floor.  Veronica's heart fluttered slightly in her chest seeing the typically brazen Railroad leader appear  _afraid._

"Coursers," Deacon stated.  Veronica looked up at him and realized his expression had changed since PAM's declaration.  His jaw was set tight, and his fists were balled up at the sides.  For the ever calm and collected spy, this was the largest show of emotion that he had ever presented, and the thought of that made Veronica uneasy.   _What the hell is_ that _about?_ she wondered, but this small thought was competing with what she had just been told.   _Courser?_  This was a man who would rather give up his life than take up a weapon.  How could he, even in a previous lifetime, be like those emotionless, murder machines that she had encountered on numerous occasions.  


"That's impossible," she said softly out loud, finishing her stream of thought.  

Glory cleared her throat, and gave Veronica a warm, empathetic look.  "It's possible he  _was_ , Professor, but then, most of those guys didn't make it through the training program.  Seriously, shit was brutal.  I mean, Sturges, no disrespect, but from what your girl here has told us about you, I just can't see it."

"Thanks," he laughed, giving Glory a half-grin.  "Besides, Facilities seems right up my alley, right?  Fixin' stuff and helpin' out.  Maybe that's how I'm so good at it."

Des, Glory, and Veronica visibly relaxed, going along with this more reasonable train of thought.  Deacon, however, remained visibly agitated.

"If you were just in Facilities," Deacon hissed, his voice trembling with anger, "then why would you have needed to get your memories wiped?"

Sturges' mouth dropped open and he mumbled a few unintelligible syllables as he tried to form an answer to a question that only erased memories could answer.

"M-maybe he just didn't want to remember the Institute," Glory offered.

Deacon stepped forward, like a cat stalking a prey.  "Yeah, or maybe he just wanted to forget the monster he was," he sneered.  

" _Deacon_ ," Des warned.  The spy raised a hand behind him as if to shut her up.

"NO!  He does NOT get to forget what he did!" Deacon was next to the gurney and spitting his words through his teeth with such force that spittle sprayed against Sturges' blanched face.  A flush of fury was spreading across Deacon's face, neck, and arms.  His body was trembling with an anger that nobody understood.  When his sunglasses started to shimmy down his face, though, and Veronica caught a look at his eyes.  They reminded her of the ice that had been her home for two decades.  Fear, rage, revenge.

Veronica launched across Sturges, as if to protect him from whatever maelstrom Deacon was about to fire down upon him.

"What the hell is going on?" she cried, looking up at Sturges with pleading eyes. 

Deacon bent at the knees until he was in a low crouch, eyes level with Veronica's.  

"He. killed. my. wife," he spat out with a discernible restraint.  That's when he stood up up, reared a fist, and smashed it right into the mechanic's left cheek.

That's when the room spun into chaos.  

Sturges fell back, hand clamped on his cheek, screaming out in pain, not only from the crack in his jaw, but also from the sudden movement to his abdomen.  Reacting on instinct, Veronica sprung from the gurney, grabbing Deacon by the shoulders as he pulled his arm up to make another blow.  Des was rushing to Sturges's side, inspecting the growing bruise on Sturges' cheek and calling for help.  Meanwhile, Veronica was struggling against Deacon, who was desperately trying to shake her off, like a wild animal refusing to be caught.  Glory came to her aid, grabbing on of Deacon's wrists and helping Veronica push him against a wall.  They struggled to hold him still.

A group of agents ran into the room, and their eyes widened as they saw the violent scene in front of them.

"A little help here," Glory growled.  Veronica's eyes remained locked on Deacon who seemed to see right through her.  He was blinded by a memory they couldn't see.  Her arms felt like jelly as he pushed against her.  Glory gave her a desperate look, and Veronica knew they couldn't hold him back much longer.  With one final thrust, he pushed and both women fell back as he hurled himself towards the gurney, fist ready.  That's when there was a flash of orange, a crash, and Deacon was on his back on the floor, held down by Watson.

The room watched with gaping mouths as the scrawny, mousy synth held Deacon down, even though the captive had almost 100 pounds on his captor.  Watson pulled something from his pocket, a syringe, injected it into the spy's neck and pulled the plunger, even as he struggled against it.  Soon, Deacon fell slack.  For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath until the heard a gentle snore come from his mouth.  

Again, the room plunged into silence as everyone tried to process what was happening.

"What the  _fuck_?" Glory bellowed as she stood and offered Veronica a hand up.  "What the hell did he mean by that whole 'you killed my wife' bit?" she asked looking at Sturges with alarm.  Sturges, whose face was slightly purple and puffy from the strike looked just as alarmed as she.

Des walked around the gurney and knelt down to check Deacon's pulse.  "What did you do to him, Watson?" she asked accusingly.

Watson put up one hand in defense while he stretched out the other hand to her, holding the syringe.  "J-j-just Med-X, ma'am, honest."  Des took the syringe and inspected it.  When she seemed satisfied, she gave Watson a nod and carded her hand through Deacon's hair, a maternal look on her face.  "What got into you, Deacon?" she murmured before standing and addressing the room.

"What happened in here, stays in here.  I don't know what happened, but we're going to get to the bottom of it.  Now," she cleared her throat, "Glory, I need you and Starling to take Deacon to the couch.  Have Carrington look him over and keep watch.  Let me know the minute he wakes up."  Glory and the newer female agent nodded and started to hoist Deacon into their arms and out of the room.  

"Now, everyone except Veronica, Sturges, and Watson, please leave the room."  They all begrudgingly walked out, hoping for more action to break up their mundane day.  Desdemona followed them to the door and shut it behind them, turning to address the small group left.

"Now, Watson.  What was  _that_?" she asked.  The agent blushed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I honestly don't know, ma'am.  I-I've never done something like that before.  I just- I saw him start to attack and my body just... took over," he stammered.

Des frowned and studied him closely.  "What did you say your designation was again?" she asked.

"X4-28, ma'am, b-b-ut I was assigned to Bioscience."

"Why?" Des took a few steps closer until she loomed over him.

"I-I don't remember."  

* * *

 

After the interrogation, Des and Watson left the room and Des recommended that Veronica try and get Sturges' somewhere safe in case they couldn't control Deacon.  It took a bit of struggle, but she managed to get the staggering man into a fresh set of clothes, turning around with a blush as he changed out his boxers.  Veronica was snapping the buttons of his overalls when his hands covered hers.  Looking up, her eyes looked up to those melting mahogany eyes with that same look that had drawn her into his arms.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered.

"Well, you need clothes.  You can't go around-"

"S'not what I meant, Roni.  Why are you still here?" He gripped her hands as if terrified she'd change her mind and run.  "I know you ain't the sort to get bent out of shape over synths and all, but what about this Deacon mess?  What- what if it's true?" 

Veronica took a deep breath.  This question had been lingering on the edge of her mind since Deacon had uttered those fatal words.  

She vividly remembered the night Deacon had told her about Barabara.  They sat under a tree outside of Sanctuary, leaning against each other, exhausted after a mission that nearly tore them apart.  Deacon was nursing a gash across his forehead that Curie had managed to patch up.  Veronica was bruised, both her body and her ego.  They both clutched at each other, realizing how close they had brushed death that day.  Before she realized what he was doing, Deacon had taken off his sunglasses and pulled her ear close, murmuring in her ear the story of his lost wife; the pain he had gone through after her death, the times he could see her in his dreams, and he wished he wouldn't wake up, the guilt he felt anytime he found himself wanting another woman.  This man had been been broken by an experience that he was now accusing her lover of.  Someone she couldn't imagine losing herself.  Veronica felt damned if she did and damned if she didn't.  

This was Sturges.  That name, that designation, was a different person.  They may have had the same DNA, and even the same birthday, but something in nuture had clearly won out over nature.  Still, something about Watson's actions today made her apprehensive.  Veronica had seen Des' line of questioning.  An "X" designation synth who didn't know how they ended up in their department snapped into an almost instinctual violent role.  What if the same thing happened to Sturges?  What if it was towards friend, not foe?  But still, wouldn't he have taken down those raiders?

"Roni?" he murmured, breaking her thoughts.

"Sturges," she reached up and caressed his cheek, starting to fill out with stubble, "I love you too much to hate you for something I'm not sure about."  

"But what if we find out that it's true?" he whispered, eyes full of anxiety.  Veronica pulled his face down and leaned her forehead against his.

"I don't know who you were, but I know who you are now.  Just," she paused, lower lip trembling, "please don't hurt me."

"Never," he breathed, as he leaned in, taking her face in his hands and kissing her deeply, as if it was their first and last kiss.  Veronica moaned against him, even as tears trickled down her cheeks.  She couldn't pinpoint a single emotion.  She was just a whirlwind of emotion.  Removing her hand, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close, struggling to press against every inch of him, struggling to feel grounded.  He broke the kiss and nuzzled her nose with his, causing a shiver to spike down her spine.  

Slowly, he moved his mouth to her ear, the slight stubble scratching against her delicate cheek.  "I need you," he whispered with desperation, clutching to her waist.

"I know a place," she breathed into his neck, landing a tingling kiss before breaking away, taking his hand, and leading him out of the room, and to the astonishment of the agents, down the long hallways of the crypt outside of Headquarters.

 


	17. Piston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this fiction is getting kind of all-over-the place, or maybe I'm just being hard on myself. I'm going to try to reel it in this chapter and cool things down for a second, while hopefully adding some meaningful content. 
> 
> Comments, criticisms, hate mail, fan mail, and questions are always cherished. 
> 
> P.S. - Some amazing art of Veronica and Sturges incoming soon by the crazy talented Gray over at schakira.tumblr.com. Check him out if you get the chance!
> 
> P.P.S.- Listening to some appropriate music for inspiration.

"Well ain't this a nice little hidin' spot," Sturges whistled as they stumbled up the last of the spiraling steps and crashed through the ajar door to the church's steeple. Veronica's legs were quaking underneath her as she tried to keep the staggering man steady.

"T-thanks," she panted out.  Noticing, Sturges pulled away and managed to stand on his own two feet, albeit shakily.

"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized with a sheepish grin, "Just ain't got my sea legs, yet."  Veronica offered a forgiving smile in return and swept her hand around the small space like a game show presenter from long ago.

"This is it, my little home away from home," Veronica offered.  Slowly, knees now sore from the exerting walk up, she knelt and snapped the dust off of an old patched quilt that lay across a mattress that she had brought up awhile back.  As she wiggled under the blanket, she lifted a corner and gave Sturges an inviting smile.  Sturges let out a groan as he knelt, clutching his injured abdomen, and crawled under the blanket next to her.  With some awkward shuffling, they both ended up laying on their sides, facing one another.  One thick, muscular arm supported her head, while another scooped possessively around her waist.  One of her small, delicate hands clutched lovingly at one of his overall straps and the other traced the defined features of his face.  A finger slid over the lines of worry across his forehead, down his rounded nose, and across his full, pouty lips.  He giggled when she brushed across a ticklish spot below his jawline, eyes glittery with mirth.  Veronica brushed her hand down his chest until she grabbed the other overall strap and pulled him closer.

Their foreheads touched and she watched as his eyes fluttered closed.  His arm around her waist pulled her against him until they lay flush together.  With a flick of his neck, her head tilted up and her lips moved onto his.  Veronica heard Sturges breath in a shaky breath and felt his cracked lips smile against hers.  Her own eyes closed as she pushed in further to deepen the kiss, moving, tilting, and pushing to discover every inch of his lips.  Letting go of his overall strap, she reached up and carded her hands through his thick hair, tangling them into the now-messy pompadour.  Sturges let out a quiet moan pushed his waiting tongue against her lips until they parted, so that he could explore her deeper.  It was Veronica's turn to moan as she pulled away gently, only to come back and nibble on his lower lip.  With a growl, Sturges reciprocated, breathing becoming heavy, and body exuding desire.  Veronica melted into him, her heartbeat reaching a dizzying pace.  His hand around her waist slid to caress her plentiful ass as his lips left her mouth and left a trail of kisses down her neck.  

" _Sturges,_ " she whispered his name as a shiver worked its way down her spine.  Removing her hand from his hair, she trailed it languidly down his body until she was brushing her knuckles across the growing bulge in his overalls

"I-oh-um- _fuck_ -" he stammered as she began to knead at him, and he pushed against her in need.  His breathing started to become shaky and Veronica glowed red, wondering if he was close.  Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he took his hand away from its place on her backside and grabbed her wrist.  Veronica's eyes widened with alarm.   _Oh, no.  Oh please.  What have I done?_ she worried.

Calming her fears, Sturges brought her hand to his lips and gave it a chase kiss.

"Not here," he breathed, offering her an apologetic look.

"But-" she protested.

"Not here," he insisted.  "Look I ain't always a gentleman, but I know you gotta take a lady on a date or somethin' before you do...  _that._ " He blushed, and the red crept through, even past his returning tan.  "Roni, thing's are just a little crazy right now and I- I just want to make sure we do this right."  Sturges smiled, holding her hand in his and bringing it to rest in between them.

"But-"

"But nothin'," he winked, "We got way more important things to deal with right about now."  The mechanic snuggled in closer again so that their foreheads touched.  Again that brilliant look, that she now identified as a look of love, washed over his face.  Veronica beamed back.

"I love you," she murmured.

"Love you, too, sweetheart," he answered, landing a kiss on her nose.  "Now, down to business." 

"Business?"

"I don't know if you were back there, but a friend of yours just accused me of killin' his wife.  That's business."  Veronica scrunched her face.  She wished this whole ugly mess would just go away.  She wished it could just be the two of them, tucked away in this special place, without the invasion of ghosts from the past.  

"Sturges," she said reflectively, "I don't know what's gotten into Deacon, but there's no way you could've killed Barbara."  At the sound of her name, Sturges' body went rigid.  Veronica watched as a flash of recognition blinked across his features.  

"Barbara," he whispered, rolling the name around his mouth like an old piece of chewing gum.

Veronica scooted away slightly and caught his distressed bark brown eyes with her curious eyes, flecked with the colors of autumn leaves.  "Sturges?"

"Barbara," he whispered again, "I don't know why.  That name... somethin' about it seems like it should be familiar, but I can't reckon a reason why."

A long pregnant pause blossomed between them.  They both knew the reason why.  Barbara must be behind that wall.  The wall that had begun when his old memories faded.   _Barbara.  Barbara, what?  Barbara, a friend?  Barbara, that's a nice name.  Barbara, the woman he killed_ _?_ Then what?  What would she do if he had killed her best friend's wife?  What if he did, but didn't want to?  What if he did it and loved it?  

But then, what if he didn't?  What was hiding behind that wall?  What was there to hide?  

Sturges squeezed her hand and gave her a thoughtful expression.

"I wanna know," he stated, voice barely above a whisper.

"But... how?" she whispered anxiously.  Sturges let go of her hand and again wrapped his arm around her waist.  He tilted his head so that his chin rested on top of her mussed hair.  Veronica nuzzled her nose into his neck, comforting herself in his warm, musky smell.

"Y'know, angel, you seem to be pretty good about figuring this kind of stuff out," he murmured.  Her lips smiled into the hollow of his neck, causing him to squirm.  

"I like that," she murmured.

"Like what?"

"Angel," Veronica answered.  She could feel his smile against the crown of her head.  

After a paused, he explained, with a note of reverence in his voice, "You saved me."

Her eyes teared and she let out an ugly sniff.  He responded, holding her tightly to him and rubbing circles on her back.  God be damned if she wouldn't save him over and over again if it meant she could have him close like this.  Slowly, she wormed her hands between them and unsnapped his coveralls buttons.  Reaching down to the hem of his thermal shirt, Veronica shimmied her arms up and around the skin taut skin of his torso, relishing in the brilliant heat radiating off of him, as the evening early-spring wind whipped around them.  Sturges tucked the blanket around them and settled down with her, and soon she heard his breaths grow longer and deeper, as a thought materialized in her mind.

"Amari..." she mumbled, half-asleep, into his rising and falling chest.

"Hm..?" 

"Amari.  She'll know what to do."

"M'kay.  Amari..."  He sleepily kissed the top of her head and the two drifted off to the faraway cracks of gunfire and the occasional shuffle of footsteps of agents in and out of the church.

 


	18. Whir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I have a picture of my favorite two people! Attached at the end :)

"Des, he's up," Glory grumbled, shaking the leader's shoulder. Des had fallen asleep at her desk, a notepad in front of her scrawled with notes, written in the Railroad's secret code.She quickly roused, gently stretching in her chair before rising and following a sleep-deprived Glory back to the couch.  One of the newest agents, a brute of a synth, stood by like a bodyguard with arms folded across his chest and a menacing grim line for a mouth.  As for Deacon, he was sitting up with his arms folded and one leg crossed over the other.  His ginger arched as Desdemona stepped in front of him.  He flashed a smirk at the recruit.

"Looks like Mom's home.  Make sure she pays you," he quipped.  The poor synth flushed red, dropping his arms along with his intimidation tactics.  Des gave him a sympathetic look before glaring at Deacon.  

"You two," Des ordered, mean Glory and the recruit, "Go.  Get some sleep.  We'll be fine."  The two brutes quickly nodded in assent.  Glory clapped her hand around the other synth's shoulders and led him towards the shared bunk area.  Des smiled after them, glad to see Glory able to move on and become close to others after the loss of G5-15.  The smile was short lived. 

After they were out of earshot, Des mimicked the recruit's stance, arms crossed over her chest and legs standing firm.  Her golden eyes seared through those sunglasses, knowing that behind the spectacles and the smug expression, were cerulean eyes filled with fear.  Fear of abandoment by his Railroad family, fear of rejection by his leader, fear of such blatant vulnerability, fear of his partner's wrath, and fear for her safety.

"Deacon," Des started softly, contrasting her stern appearance, "What happened in there?"

"Cutting straight to business, huh?  My kinda lady," he joked, moving his hands behind his head and stretching his legs in front of him in a desperate attempt to appear calm.  Desdemona knew better.  He kept a lot from her over the years, but she could always read his emotions like she was reading straight out of a book.

" _Deacon_ ," she warned, "Look, you tried to attack someone inside Headquarters.  You know I can't just look away.  Half of our team saw you, and the rumors that spread to the other half are going to be unmanageable."

"So?" 

"So?  I  _demand_ an explanation, Deacon.  I can't have the other agents thinking it's  _okay_ to attack guests in our facility.  So, explanation.   _Now_."  Unlike Deacon, Desdemona didn't even try to hide her emotions, and her cheeks were glowing red with frustration.  Her golden eyes were like embers against a cold winter night.  Deacon scoffed and looked away, momentarily dropping his act, only to pick it up again.

"C'mon, Des.  You know you need me," he drawled.  

She had to think faster.  He was one step ahead in this chess game of words, and it was time to pull out her queen.

"Professor," she blurted out.  She was satisfied when his expression started to drop again, and the wrinkles in his forehead creased as his eyebrows knit together.  "Professor took off with Sturges, Deacon.  We don't have any information on their whereabouts, but if she's not in any kind of danger, then I have no reason to utilize resources to go search for her.  That is, unless _you_ think she's in some kind of danger."

Deacon's lips drew into a thin line and tendrils of red streaked his neck and face.  After decades of refinement in the art of espionage, Deacon hated being figured out.  He also hated that somehow, someway, Desdemonda had figured out his only true weakness:  Professor.

"Fine," he stated, "I'll talk.  Come sit over here, though.  You're creepin' me out with the tough guy act."  Des rolled her eyes, but simultaneously breathed out a sigh of relief.  She had won the short game, at least.  

After she had sat down, Deacon leaned over and began to whisper into her ear as she anxiously listened, obeying his only request that she hear him out before asking questions.  Even though his voice remained monotone, she watched from the corner of her eye as his face went from tenderness to fear to anger and finally despair as he told her about the series of events that had taken away the love of his life.  By the end, Des found herself staring down at her shoes, regretting having ever doubted her right hand.  She looked at him with slightly glistening eyes, wishing she could convey how much she understood his pain.  She wished she could see what was churning in the vast oceans behind his sunglasses.

Finally, she piped up with her only question, "And you're sure that it was him?"

Deacon paused, as if verifying the information for himself one last time.  "Yeah.  It was him," he admitted.  Then, Deacon stood, brushing off his clothes and grabbing for his pompadour wig.  

"Where do you think you're going?" Des asked, as she watched him grab his pack and gun from a table, and head towards the back entrance.

"Where do you think?  I've got to find her, Des.  He- that-  _monster_ can't be trusted with her," he snarled, opening the door.

"Wait!" Des called, "I'm coming with you."

* * *

As the first wisps of sunlight crept through the spires and cracked brick rubble, Veronica stirred, hoping the warm arms around her weren't a dream.  As her eyes cracked open, she was greeted by two half-lidded chestnut eyes looking back at her.

"Mornin', angel," Sturges murmured leaning in to give her a quick kiss.  Even that small kiss had her stomach doing somersaults.

"Good morning," she beamed back, loving his smile that her voice inspired.  He looked a disheveled mess.  His pompadour was now a wicked mess of black hair.  A hint of stubble adorned his jawline.  His shirt had slid up through the night and she could see the thin dark trail leading right down to his-

"Eyes are up here, darlin'," he chuckled, and she flushed a thousand shades of mauve.  "Stop thinkin' like that or we'll never get to this Amari friend of yours."   _Amari?_

"Amari?" she asked, confused.  "Oh, Doctor Amari!  Sorry, I was just-"

"Distracted?" Sturges raised his eyebrows in mock judgement and she batted at his chest.

"Oh, shut  _up_ ," she smiled, wrapping her arms back under his shirt, enjoying the warmth for just a few more minutes.

"Make me," he dared, with a teasing sparkle in his eyes.  With all the strength in her half-asleep body, Veronica pushed on him until he lay flat on his back, and straddled herself over him, sticking out a tongue.  Sitting back, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled upwards, watching his eyes darken and follow along.  There was a bounce as her endowed breasts sprang free of the shirt and she finished with a flourish, tossing the t-shirt to the side.  Sturges sat, eyes wide and full of lust, mouth slightly agape.  Veronica grinned.

"Eyes are up here,  _darlin'_ ," she mocked, but Sturges remained entranced, hands sliding up the curve of her stomach.  Just as he was about to reach his prize, she snatched his hands and pinned them at his sides.  His face contorted into a look of frustration, that was easily corroborated by the tantalizing pressure against her thigh.  

"What?  Don't have anything to say?" she teased.  Sturges groaned and she rolled off of him laughing and standing to collect her shirt.  As she put it back on, Sturges stood, leaning against the wall, watching her with a lovingly possessive look.  She loved that he looked at her that way.  Once she was done, she crossed the space and leaned against him, pressing her hands against his chest.  She traced up and over his shoulders, standing on her tip toes, to grab the hanging straps of his overalls and pul them over to rebutton his attire.  Next, she reached up and gently carded her hands through his hair to push it back into its typical style.  Sturges closed his eyes and let out a contented hum.  Even after the many moments last night and this morning, it was _this_ moment that felt so overwhelmingly intimate.  Two people at their most vulnerable, adoring each other, through the most mundane of actions.  They stood for a second, breathing in the moment, before silently agreeing to part and gather their bags.  

Sturges hoisted his pack and strapped on his rifle as Veronica attached her armor and double checked over her 10mm.  Without a word, she reached out for his hand, which he offered without question, and lead him down the steps, out of the church, and into the faintly warm spring morning.

 

* * *

 

"If it ain't my favorite little smoothskin," Hancock crooned in his raspy voice.  Roni skipped through the Goodneighbor gates and hopped up to give the decked-out ghoul a hug.  Sturges leaned against the arch of the entrance, trying in vain to conceal his obvious jealousy.  Ever since her first visit to Goodneighbor, Roni always went on and on about Hancock  _this_ and Hancock  _that_.  And when the guy visited Sanctuary, he followed the General around like a lost puppy, tongue wagging anytime her back was turned.  Hell, Sturges had figured that somehow the ghoul would be the one to get the girl, and yet while he was riding the high that he, a simple mechanic out of Quincy, had snagged the catch, Sturges couldn't help but still feel jealous as her face lit up at the sight of a red frock coat and ruffled shirt.  The duo was yammering at a speed that was only audible to those under the influence of Jet and people as sharp-witted as Roni.  

Soon, he realized the duo was looking over at him, a look of surprise in Hancock's onyx eyes.  

"Sturges!  Get over here!" Veronica called, beckoning him over with a wave and a shit-eating grin on her face.  Christ, he loved that he made her smile like that.

"Hancock," she began in a sing-songy voice, "This is Sturges, my... boyfriend."  Sturges blushed at the words and saw a small blush cross her face.  It was the first time they had put a name to whatever this was, and damn did he like it.  In response, he put arm around her waist, relishing in the slightly disappointed look it elicited from the ghoul.  He extended the other hand out.

"Good to see ya again, Hancock," he beamed as the ghoul shook hands hesitantly.  There was a brief awkward pause, before Hancock, ever the good host, continued the conversation.

"So, Sturges.  Veronica here tells me you all are here on a little business trip."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'm afraid the good doctor has already closed her doors for the day, so I had a proposal.  How about I take you two kids out to a little dinner and drinkin', eh?  Give us a chance to... catch up," Hancock offered.  Sturges looked down at Roni and popped a questioning look.  The dazzling toothy smile she shot back was enough of an answer for him.

"Sounds like a plan."

 

credit: hanche.tumblr.com

* * *

 


	19. Metallic

Veronica watched as Sturges was whisked away by the charismatic ghoul, smiling at Sturges' slightly nervous grin as Hancock led him towards the State House for something more suitable to wear. Once the door shut, Veronica turned and walked towards Daisy's shop to find a little something to replace the worn thermal and jeans that she'd been tromping around in. Plus, she was overdue for town gossip and that friendly smile.

"I swear, sweetheart, you keep bringin' handsome men like that around with you, and Hancock's gonna have a heart attack," a warm, gravely voice called out from behind the counter.  Daisy turned and Veronica was happy to see a teasing glint in her dark eyes. 

"Daisy!" she cried, muffled as she reached across the counter and pulled her dear friend into a hug.  "Oh, I missed you, Daisy."  Daisy patted her gently on the back and then grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away to arm's length.

"Lemme get a look at ya," she ordered, inspecting Veronica like a traded good.  Apparently, she didn't like what she saw.  Daisy clicked her tongue and rummaged under the counter, reappearing with a bag of Slocum's Buzzbites.  "Child, I don't know what you've been up to, or where you've been, but you look like you could use a good cup of coffee and somethin' to eat, so here.   _Eat._ "  Smiling, Veronica crinkled open the bag and popped one of the sugar, lightly-spice dough balls into her mouth and took her time savoring the delicious flavor and minor buzz.  When was the last time she ate?  She couldn't remember, and she was rarely one to skip a meal, even in a post-apocalyptic world.  

Not for the first time, she was warmed by the generosity and caring spirit of the people surrounding her.  Back before the bombs, Veronica often felt invisible, losing herself in a full day of work before coming home and disappearing into a world of diaper changing, meal preparing, and laundry folding.  Even with Codsworth, it was still too much work, and it wasn't that Nate didn't help because he didn't care.  It was that he wasn't  _there._ Between his civilian job, which was supporting the war effort, and his involvement with the local VFW, there just wasn't time for him to help.  Nobody ever asked if she got enough sleep.  Nobody asked if she got enough to eat.  To fill the pit of loneliness, _she_ made sure to eat, hiding snack cakes in underwear drawers and stashing the wrappers in the neighbor's bin.  In contrast, she was a stranger in this world, where  _everyone_ was busy, just trying to survive the toils of the land, and yet there was no shortage of people willing to help her patch up homes, stay safe from Raiders, or build a cooking fire.  People she had known for only hours made sure she was getting enough to sleep and got enough to eat.  

Daisy was one of those people.  The first time Veronica had dragged herself through the gates of Goodneighbor, struggling with dehydration and exhaustion, Daisy had taken her under her wing and pumped her full of purified water and watched over while she rested.  While Veronica could never repay her, she made sure to give Daisy something she knew very few people left could offer her - conversations about the time before the bombs.  Now, they talked mostly about the present, with Veronica teasing Daisy about her obvious pining for Ham, and Daisy ribbed her about forever being an Old Maid.

"So, who's  _this_ gentleman?  Another 'just a friend'?" she asked pointedly, raising where her eyebrow used to be.  Veronica grinned like a school girl with a crush.

"He's my... boyfriend," she responded meekly, watching Daisy's eyes widen in surprise.

" _Boyfriend_!  Well, well, well, I guess I owe KL-E-O those 50 caps, then."  Veronica opened her mouth in mock horror and lightly smacked her friend on the arm.  "Look, darlin', we just never expected you to bring home a puppy you actually liked.  I'm happy for ya, I really am.  C'mon, let's find you a place to wash up and you can tell me all about it."  

* * *

 

"It's a little tight," Sturges mumbled out of the bedroom door into Hancock's office.  Hancock had  _insisted_ that he change for dinner, and as Sturges' didn't have much that wasn't overalls, he was completely at the mercy of Hancock's closet.  Unfortunately, Hancock was about half a foot shorter and a good 100 pounds lighter.  "Got anything in a bigger size?" Sturges asked sheepishly.

He heard Hancock let out a disbelieving scoff.  "This ain't a department store, brother," he growled.  Even still, Sturges heard quiet footsteps come towards the door and watched as the slight ghoul passed through the door and started rummaging through his disorganized trunk of clothes.  Most of the clothes he tossed aside haphazardly on the floor around him.  A few articles he'd inspect more carefully, holding it up to match with Sturges' wide frame.  Sturges stood, impatient to get back to Roni and to get away from this ghoul who clearly felt nothing but disdain for him.  Hell, if Sturges had to guess, he would have bet that the ghoul was going to dress him like a damn idiot  _on purpose_.  Hancock could be heard mumbling softly to himself, commenting on articles, as if each held their own memories and feelings.  Finally, just as Sturges was about to tell Hancock where he could shove the ever-growing pile of clothes, Hancock held up a shirt and pants to Sturges with a grunt that could be interpreted as approval.

Tossing the clothes to Sturges, he stood and made his way back to the office without a word, and Sturges could hear the creak as he settled back into his chair and the hiss as he took a deep inhale from one of the Jet inhalers littering the desk.  Sturges made quick work of peeling off the skin tight clothing and examining what the mayor had tossed at him.  The pants were a cotton material, similar to his overalls, but were a medium gray color, like the broken asphalt that snacked through the Commonwealth.  Pulling them on, he noticed that they actually fit, and were in relatively good condition, save for a few small frayed threads at the seams.  Next, Sturges pulled the shirt over his head.  It was a simple black t-shirt with a V-neck collar.  His broad chest made it a bit snug, but it was better than the previous ruffled shirt that barely reached past his belly button.

A cracked mirror leaned against the wall by the door to the bedroom, and Sturges sauntered over to inspect his appearance.  A slight smirk spread across his handsome face as he appreciated the way the clothing accentuated what he liked most about himself.  He was never one to be vain, that's for sure, but he was glad that at least his hard work over a workbench had  _some_ added benefit.  Besides, with everything going on right now, Roni could use something nice to look at.  He just hoped he'd still look as nice tomorrow, after the truth came out.  The smirk faded, replaced by a worried frown, as he realized that tonight was just a brief purgatory before the truth came out tomorrow, leading them to heaven or hell.

Two quiet knocks came at the door and Sturges saw Hancock behind him in the reflection, leaning through the door.   "You look fine,  _princess_ ," he remarked in a sour tone.  Sturges whipped around, just about over Hancock's searing looks and bitter mutterings.  

"What's your problem?" Sturges confronted, taking a few steps forward to look down on Hancock.  "You've been nothin' but ornery since we got here, and I gotta feelin' it ain't because 'f Roni."  Hancock raised his brow and gave a defiant smirk.  He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame, seemingly unimpressed by Sturges' display.  

"Well, well, well.  Kitty has claws," Hancock sassed in his gravelly murmur, pretending to claw at the area with his hand.  Sturges blushed, embarrassed at Hancock's trivialization.  It only made him madder and he leaned in until he was nearly chest to chest with the ghoul.

"Look, Hancock, I've seen the way you look at Roni.  I may be a simple fella, but I ain't stupid.  Last thing she needs is you startin' some kinda pissin' match right now.  Back.  Off."  Sturges punctuated those last few words with a whisper that was almost lost in the city din streaming in through the window.  

Hancock let out a chuckle, which to Sturges' surprised contained a hint of humor that was confusing in the situation.  "What?  What in the hell is so funny?" Sturges stormed.

"Trust me, brother.  Veronica's a nice gal and all, but she ain't my type.  Now, c'mon.  We're going to be late," Hancock grinned as he swiftly turned and tromped out of the state house with a confused Sturges in tow.

* * *

An unseasonal warm breeze from the bay pervaded rapidly cooling air as Veronica made her way to the Third Rail, practically skipping.  Even with everything going on, even with the possibility that her newfound love could be an ex-murderer, even with her best friend and partner attempting to kill her brand new beau, she was happy, happy to be in love again.  No matter what tomorrow would bring, Veronica, along with Daisy's motherly encouragement, had decided that tonight be would a night of laughter, joy, and romance. Besides, it was always a party when Hancock was involved.  

 

Then, there was the dress.  Daisy had really outdone herself this time, and Veronica was curious where she found such a lovely piece.  It was a number in a black velvet, form-fitting along the ample curves of her body.  Because of her short stature, the shirt reached past her knees, but even with the warming breeze, she was glad to have some cover.  The neckline was scooped in the front and back, revealing a tasteful visage of her rounded breasts.  The sleeves had a slight pleat at the shoulder before cacooning her arm down past the elbow.  Sure, it had a few frayed hems, and the velvet was marred in places, but for the Commonwealth, it was a dead ringer.

 

Daisy, sweetheart that she was, had even helped Veronica style her short, yet ever-growing wild hair into an array of twists, held back by Veronica's heavily hoarded bobby pin collection.  Tonight was going to be a good night, indeed.  Veronica had, of course, invited her loving friend, but Daisy declined with a wink, saying she had business to attend to that evening.  When Veronica inquired if that business was in the form of a tall, handsome ghoul, Daisy just smirked and pushed her out the door.

 

Now, on her way to the Third Rail, the night air a rarified combination of Winter and Spring, the sounds of bustling and friendship around her, nothing could stop her.

 

As she entered the bar's upstairs entrance, Ham gave her a friendly smile, and gave her an approving wink.  "Didn't know we were expecting such lovely company!" he appreciated in a jocular tone.  Veronica paused at the top of the steps and flashed him her winning smile.  "Didn't know you weren't with Daisy tonight," she countered with a wink, and as she stepped down the stairs, she saw the muscles of the ghoul's face contract as if he were blushing.

 

Down in the bar, things were a clamor of noise and movement.  Patrons were talking loudly, each one trying to talk over the next.  Charlie whirred behind the bar, snatching up caps for tips and nagging those who held their cap purses tight.  Magnolia crooned into the microphone, making each bar attendee feel like she was singing in a private show just for them.  How Veronica envied her natural sexual energy.  No man, or woman for that matter, could resist her charms or her red sequined get-up.

 

Sidling up to the bar, she got her usual snide remark from Charlie along with a few fingers of whiskey in exchange for an ample tip.  Each bottle cap usually got her a few heavy-hand pours.  Propping herself up onto the bar stool, she crossed her legs and leaned against the bar top, savoring her drink and drinking in Magnolia.  Either one made her heady, but in combination, they were nearly lethal.  So lethal that she didn't even notice the two men enter the bar and make their way over to her.

 

It was a low-pitched clearing of the throat, like rocks underfoot, that had her head snapping to attention.  There was Sturges, decked out in gray pants and a black shirt, looking at her like a wastelander looked at a brahim steak, mouth slightly agape, and eyes disbelieving.  Veronica blushed at the attention while admiring him, the way he filled out the shirt, and the way the gray somehow accentuated his eyes.  They stared at each other longingly, but neither moving, as if by moving, they'd break whatever spell the night seemed to have over them.

 

"You look good, Sunshine," Hancock rasped approvingly, while rolling his onyx eyes at the duo.  "And from the looks of it, your friend here agrees."  Hancock gave Sturges a hard clap on the back, sending him barreling towards Veronica, causing her to spill the few sips of whiskey onto her dress.

 

With a yelp, she jumped up and searched in vain for a towel and Sturges muttered out a slew of apologies.  The scene was endearing as it was annoying.  Finally, Hancock leaned over the bar, grabbing a small towel and tossing it to his companion, who quickly made work of cleaning herself up.

 

Sturges ran a hand through his hair in irritation.  "I-I'm so sorry.  He pushed me and-"

 

"Stop," Veronica crooned, setting the towel on the stool and pressing a palm into his chest, "Hancock's just having some fun at your expense."  She flashed a look at Hancock that was a combination of a sibling's annoyance and a partner-in-crime's approval.  Hancock smirked back.

 

"Hey, sister, just trying to get you out of that dress," he teased as he sauntered off towards the VIP room for a round of drinks and chems with his usual crew.  There was a loud thunk as Charlie placed two glasses of whiskey on the counter in front of them.

 

"Don't worry, love.  Already on ya friend's tab," he laughed in his mechanical tone as he floated away.

 

Sturges reached around her, grabbing both drinks, and for a brief second, pinning her against the bar.  Her eyes were afire and when he caught hers in his, it send his brown eyes burning.  Slowly, he handed her one of the two drinks, and they clinked glasses.  Without breaking eye contact, they drank steadily until both glasses were empty and replaced on the bar top.

 

"Care to dance?"  Veronica asked, cocking an eyebrow.  Sturges offered out his hand, which she took, and guided her to the dance floor where several other couples had gathered to dance to one of Magnolia's more lively numbers.  Veronica was surprised when his free hand wrapped around her waist, and the hand in hers shifted for a better angle.  He spun her around the dance floor, dipping her dramatically, and swaying to the beat.  As the danced, Veronica smiled at those around her, making pleasantries with those she knew, but always returned to his face, which for the first time in days, showed nothing of fear, sadness, or regret.  It was that loving look, but no longer tainted with uncertainty.  It was brilliant.

 

After a few songs, Veronica felt her heart beating quickly and her breathing became faster.  Fortunately, Magnolia introduced one of her slower songs.  Sturges let go of her hand and slid the second hand around her waist.  In response, she slid her arms around his neck and leaned close, resting her head on his chest.  She could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest, although whether from dancing or nerves, she couldn't tell.  How could someone with a heart that beat for her, possibly be someone who murdered someone else?  In this moment, she was convinced it couldn't possibly be true.  As he let out a contented sigh as they swayed, and squeezed her closer, the feeling only deepened.

* * *

 Deacon sank back against the couch, casually resting his beer on his knee.  It had taken him hours to figure out an outfit that his partner hadn't seen.  Ultimately, he'd had to bribe Daisy with the last of his caps for a decent pair of black slacks and a faded salmon button down shirt.  Buttoned up and tucked in, he fit in with the rest of the lounge crowd at the Third Rail.  As for his wig, he took his favorite black pompadour and with Des's assistance, brushed it into something resembling a messy crew cut.  Finally, the piece de resistance, was replacing his typical black sunglasses with a set of slightly tan aviators that he had traded for awhile back.  As long as she didn't get too close, she'd never even notice he was there.

 

Des tucked in next to him, playing the doting girlfriend.  Her hair was pinned back into a fashionable chignon, and a simple light blue dress spread around her on the couch.  She kept her head dipped into his neck, like a lover whispering sweet nothings into her lover's ear, but in reality, she was shielding her face, and watching the room past Deacon's cheek.

 

"What's your angle?" Des asked, playing at rubbing his thigh.  Deacon blushed slightly.  He had never worked with Des in the field, and something about it seemed very, very wrong, which also made it very, very exciting.  

 

"Well, doll," he replied, "Professor has had about two drinks of whiskey, and they've danced to about five songs.  They've slowed down a bit, which means any minute now-"  

 

"Yep!" he exclaimed, looking around to make sure his outburst hadn't caught attention.  He watched as Sturges gently led his partner off the dance floor, and took a stool and Veronica made her way to the restroom.

 

"So what's the move now?" Des murmured into his neck, peeking over his shoulder to watch Veronica's movements.  Deacon pointed to himself and then Sturges, and then pointed to Desdemona and Veronica.  "Tell her- tell her I'm sorry," he whispered as he stood up and strode towards Sturges.  Hesitantly, Des watched Deacon and then stepped lightly towards the bathroom.  

 

***

"Two more, Mister Charlie," Sturges asked amiably.  The mechanical barman spun around grabbing for glasses and a bottle as a mysterious stranger took the seat next to him.

 

"Make that three," a familiar voice added and Sturges' heart sank.  Slowly, he spun around, and to no surprise, found himself face to face with his new enemy, just in a different packaging.

 

Lowering his voice to a stage whisper and leaning close, Sturges spoke first.  "W-what do you want?"  He watched as Deacon grinned and leaned back against the bar, surveying the room around him.

 

"I know what you two are doing tomorrow," Deacon stated matter-of-factly, as if he was just commenting on the weather or the cost of aluminum.

 

"And?"

 

"And?  I want to be there when you learn the truth," Deacon replied, turning and pulling his sunglasses down so that Sturges could see his eyes.  This made him even more uncomfortable.

 

He swallowed hard before responding.  "Why, Deacon?  How's that gonna make any goddamn difference?"

 

Deacon laughed a mirthless laugh, considering his answers.  "Because I want to see you lose her.  I want you to know how painful that is, to never be able to hold her again.  Sure, she'll be alive, but trust me.  You will never see her again."

 

Sturges fell silent and looked down at his shoes, a feeling of deep loneliness and sadness already overtaking him.  When he did finally speak, it was barely audible over the din of the bar.  "I don't know what I'm gonna do without her," he sobbed as a thunk hit the bar behind him.

 

"Drink up, ya arseholes!" Charlie cheered, breaking the moment.  Each man picked up his drink, and with mock flair, Deacon raised his glass to his comrade. 

 

"Cheers.  Enjoy it while it lasts," he toasted with a satisfied grin on his face.  Deacon took a sip and then walked away, leaving Sturges to his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

"Professor!" Des whispered urgently, pressing her back against the bathroom door.  A single flush was heard and Veronica stepped out of the stall, looking confused.  

 

"Des?  What the-"

 

"There isn't time for explanations.  Deacon came here to look for you two.  He thinks you're in danger, Professor," Desdemona answered hastily.  In response, Veronica sighed and leaned against the stall entrance, a tear already creating a line in the powder Daisy had dusted on her face.

 

"I just wanted one fucking night of peace," she said, seemingly to herself, although loud enough that anyone could hear.  Des seemed to think on this and nodded sadly.

 

"And you deserve it.  I'm so sorry, and I'm sure Deacon is, too.  I wouldn't have let him come if-"

 

"If what?" Veronica now started towards Des with a flicker of anger in her eyes.  "If you didn't think I could handle myself?  Huh?  Is that what this is?  Deacon wants to save the damsel in distress?  Well guess what, Des, for once in this fucking world, I wasn't in distress.  I was happy.  I was finally in love again and then that asshole has to open his goddamn mouth and ruin in.  All I wanted was one last night to be happy before fucking tomorrow, Des.  What the fuck is your problem?"

 

Des's mouth fell open as Veronica stood on her tiptoes, practically spitting in her face.  The vigor of her ire had caused several bobby pins to come loose, and a few twists, now curled, came lose around her face.  Her skin burned red with anger.  Des's eyes cooled, trying to bring down Professor from her high.  She understood that feeling completely.  She had been happy once, too, and in her case, someone that couldn't control itself, a Deathclaw, had taken away.  At least in Veronica's case, Des could have stopped Deacon, at least now, from ruining her love before it went away completely.  Now all Des wanted to do was making it right.

 

With a shaky breath, she pressed on the door with her back and motioned for Veronica to pass through.  They both saw that Deacon was long gone, but Sturges still remained at the bar, the ice cubes in his drink quaking.  Veronica gave Des an understanding nod and flitted through the crowd to the man she still loved.

 

* * *

 

As she got closer, she could see the sheer agony welling up in his eyes.  An empty glass stood on the counter and was quickly being replaced by another.  His hands shook as he accepted it from Charlie and took a large gulp.  As she approached, Veronica gently wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled into his side.  There was still time to salvage their night.  She held onto that hope.  Sturges turned his head, catching her eyes and then shutting them, as if afraid to be under her gaze.  Veronica pressed her forehead against his.

 

"Roni," he started to murmur, "Look, I'm sorry.  He comes in here and starts-"

 

"Sssh," she shushed, placing her free hand over his lips.  "I know, but let's not worry about tomorrow."  His eyes widened with surprise as he saw the curious look in her eyes.  A turbid mixture of love, sadness, worry, and....  _desire._  Carefully, she pulled him along to the VIP room that Hancock had retired to earlier.  

 

As she opened the door and a flurry of faces looked up at her, she growled "OUT!" and immediately Hancock nodded, and everyone started to gather their empty Jet containers and half-drunk drinks to head out the door.

* * *

When Hancock brushed by Roni, Sturges saw him lean over and whisper something in Roni's ear, which had her face redder than a tato and a sly grin on her face.  It didn't catch his attention, however, as much as the hand that had grabbed Hancock's on the way out the door.  It belonged to a young, thin ghoul, with a pierced nose and, somehow, a patchy black goatee.   _Oh, so_ she's _not his type_ , he thought, just as Roni slammed the door behind the leaving group, reached her arms around his neck, and pulled him close.  He could smell the whiskey on her breath for only a second before she plunged in, and he could taste it.  


	20. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ FIRST:
> 
> This chapter is literally just smut. I guess you could say it adds to the storyline, because it's showing a very tender moment before a very dramatic event, but for anyone uncomfortable with this kind of content, I've isolated this chapter so that you can easily skip it. I plan on following this model in the future out of respect for my readers may want to skip some of the more explicit content.
> 
> If you are skipping, tl;dr - These two have relations, and spend the rest of the evening assuring each other that it's all going to be okay. 
> 
> If you aren't skipping, please enjoy, and for mood, listen to "Work Song" by Hozier on repeat.

Veronica reached up and angled his head down so that she could kiss him more deeply and more passionately. Immediately, his body responded. On instinct, he pressed back into her, nipping at the plump flesh of her lips and begging with his tongue for access. When it was granted, he explored the sweet, dark flavor of her mouth. She slid her hands up his neck and into his soft, dark hair, tangling her fingers among the tousled locks, eliciting a moan against her mouth. Slowly, relaxing, Sturges slid his hands around her narrowed waist and his fingertips gripped into the abundance of her ass. Veronica broke the kiss first, leaving them panting in the dim room, eyes lidded, searching for approval. Leaning up onto her tiptoes, Veronica tried to nip at his neck, but still only reached the top of his shoulder. Sturges noticed and increased his grip on her, before picking her up by the bottom, and she molded into him, wrapping her legs around his waist and reaching up to pull his head closer.

As she sucked a trail of kisses from his neck up to his ear, he carried her over to the room's couch and gently laid her back and crawled on top of her. She didn't stop her ministrations, and had begun to suck and nibble on his earlobe, sending his eyes rolling back. He broke away from her and gently took her hands in his. Both of them were trembling with anxiety. Her lips were red and plump, and her eyes, usually like the weathered bark of a tree, now looked like fire streaked a desert. Sturges' brown eyes were dripping with adoration as he looked down at her. It was then that he came to his senses, and the spell was broken. He remembered what tomorrow was bound to bring, and it was like water to the fire she had stoked in him, and she sensed it.

"What's wrong?" she asked tenderly, squeezing his hands.

"I'm just a little worried about tomorrow, 's all," he responded darkly. Her look transformed from one of lust to one of compassion, and it made her all the more beautiful to him.

"Hey," she whispered, "Let's not for now." She reached up and pulled him down against her so that his head was resting on her chest, and her hands gently carded through his hair. After a few moments, she felt him relax. Scooting up, he brought his forehead to touch hers, and locked her to him with her eyes.

"Is it still not the right time?" she whispered.

"No," he breathed as he closed the gap and again savored the tastes of her mouth.  Their hands roamed each other's bodies trying to understand every dip and memorize every curve.  Veronica rocked against him in need and he smiled a devilish grin that practically sent her over the brink.  Slowly, he slid his hand along the curves of black velvet, while the other cradled her face, thumb stroking her cheek.  Once he reached the ruffled hem of her dress, he slid up the soft skin of her thigh with gentle fingertips, eliciting a gasp from his muse.  It turned into a muffled moan as his thumb teased her waiting clit on top of her silk underwear she had gratefully chosen.  

As he circled, her gasps turned to panting, and she rutted against him with with need.  "Please," she whined.  His hand was quickly removed, causing Veronica to pout.  Sturges sat up, and with a wink, pulled the hem of his shirt up over his head, tossing it to the side, exposing the rippling, powerful muscle underneath.  Veronica took a moment to gawk at the hard masculinity of his torso, the small welding burns creating a constellation against the pale expanse of skin, and the marked tan line just below his shoulder.  Sturges blushed from being so scrutinized, and hid it by sliding his thumbs into the elastic of her panties and pulled down, tantalizingly slow.  Once they were discarded along with the shirt, he ghosted his fingers up her legs and over her swollen cunt, causing her to let out an unabashed whine.

"Ssssh," Sturges laughed, a giant smirk breaking out on his face.  He slowly slid two fingers down, separating her folds, wet juices soaking him.  Rotating his hand, he slid two thick fingers into her to the knuckle, and Veronica's eyes flew open in surprise.  He then affixed his thumb to her clit, and began rolling slow circles as he pumped himself in and out of her, relishing at the sounds of desire that she made and the unashamed way she pushed into him.  Sturges leaned back forward so he was pressed against Veronica, fixing her with a gaze so full of love and desire that it was as if the two things could never be separated again.  "I love you," he whispered, gently continuing his ministrations.  Her only response was an indecipherable moan.  She was putty in his hands, and he was recreating her into something brilliant, something fearless.

As she got close, her chirps and moans became more frequent, and Sturges sped up accordingly.  Soon, her body started to tremble and her grip in his hair had her knuckles white.  "Do you want to come for me?" he asked her lovingly in her ear.  

She nodded and whimpered.  He sped up until finally, with a cry, she clenched around his fingers, soaking his fingers in her arousal.  Sturges reached his arm around her back and cradled her to his chest, slowly sliding his fingers, helping her ride through the waves of orgasm.  When she was finished, he carefully removed his fingers, making a show of cleaning them in his mouth and enjoying her musky, unique taste.  As she lay back and enjoyed the after-glow, the only thing she could think of was how different this was from every other time she had had this moment.  Sure, it had always been  _nice_.  It felt good, it loosened that knot inside of her.  Something about this time, though.  It felt so connected.  Like it was a physical manifestation of the way Sturges' made her feel when he smiled at her.  Damn, if she didn't hope she could make him feel half as good.

As if reading her mind Sturges turned, so that he was sitting with his back relaxed against the back of the couch.  Before she could ask what he was doing, he effortlessly grabbed her by the hips and set her in his laps so that they were chest to chest.  Her legs adjusted on either side of him, and she grasped her hands around his neck to hold steady.  Again, he pressed his forehead against hers, eyes seeking for approval.  "You sure 'bout this?" he implored, eyes wide.  She smiled lovingly.  "More sure about this than most things right now," she whispered.  Carefully, his dipped his hands between them and Veronica rocked up as he unzipped his pants and pulled his trousers and boxers down to knee.  His hands moved to her waist and as she lowered down, she could feel, even though she couldn't see, the surprisingly girth of his dick teasing the front of her cunt.  She gulped and eyes widened in surprise.  For his part, Sturges blushed modestly and pulled up on her hips, positioning himself under her entrance.  With one fell swoop, he pressed into her until she rested on his base.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she took in the moment, enjoying the pure bliss of the way he stretched her, and Sturges seemed to feel the same.  Several moments passed where they just sat them, hands carding through each other's hair, eyes carrying on a conversation that was forbidden out loud.  Before long, Veronica braced her arms against the back of the couch and started to rock against him in a slow, drawn-out rhythm.  Sturges' eyes fluttered shut and his head lolled back on the couch.  He groaned a demure sound of pleasure and gently took her hips, helping her to sustain her pace.  

It was like the whole world ended all over again.  The only thing that existed was the two of them on that couch, slowing rock into one another, pressing needy kisses, and speaking without words.  Veronica knew, in this moment, that nothing could tear her from this man.  He could have been the one to drop the bombs, and she still couldn't leave him.  They fit together so perfectly, like two sides of the same coin.  Tomorrow suddenly didn't matter anymore.

Veronica noticed when his breathing shifted, becoming more ragged and his thrusts came uneasily.  There was nothing she wanted more in that moment than to give him the gift he had bestowed upon her.  Gripping the couch, she made her thrusts faster and harder until Sturges was biting his lower lip and his grip on her hips was hard enough to bruise.

"I'm-I'm-" he was stopped by a scream, gritted through his teeth as he came forcefully, filling her with his seed.  He slumped against the back of the couch, and Veronica fell onto him until he went soft.  They untangled and Sturges laid her back against the couch, both still breathless.  Looking around the room, he found a bar towel and cleaned himself up before gently cleaning her up as well.  There was some shuffling of bodies as Sturges got under her, pressing her head to his chest and stroking her hair.  There were no words left to be said.  Anything would have been trite and redundant.  They had said everything worth saying through their bodies, and they both only hoped that the words would still ring true in the morning.

 

 

 

 


	21. Screen

_Knock knock_

_Knock knock_

A gentle rapping at the door brought Veronica to attention. Where am I? she thought to herself. Underneath of her, Sturges was snoozing soundly, his bare chest moving up and down in a gentle rhythm. His arms were possessively wrapped around her waist, and tightened when she squirmed to try and face the door. After peppering his chest with a smattering of kisses, Veronica finally elicited a needy groan from her companion whose brown eyes fluttered open, clutching to the remnants of sleep.

"Babe, someone's at the door," she smiled as she pushed out of his hold, stood up, and pressed down the wrinkles in her dress. Her hair was a wild mess, and her underwear were still missing, but she figured whoever was knocking on the door wouldn't mind. Slowly, she cracked the door, to be greeted by a sheepish looking Hancock, with two steaming cups of coffee in hand.

"Busy night, eh?" he laughed with a sly gleam in his eyes. Veronica blushed in response, opening the door more to let Hancock in, and swiftly slamming it behind him, lest anyone else around should see.

"Thanks," she said sheepishly, accepting the coffee and taking a greedy gulp. Sturges followed suit with his coffee. "So, what's up, Hancock?"

"What? When I heard the rumors about the noises coming from this room last night, I had to see it for myself," he joked, eyeballing the state of Veronica's hair and Sturges' discarded shirt on the floor. Carefully, Hancock picked up the shirt and tossed it towards Sturges, who with a blush, pulled it back on with a muttered apology. To make matters worse, after pulling it on, Veronica found that her missing undergarment was clinging to the shirt's front.

Hancock tried to cover his shit-eating grin with his palms as Veronica hurried over to pull off the offending garment and pulled them on under her skirt. "Well, that's enough evidence for me," Hancock quipped, losing his battle to be discreet. Veronica plopped down next to Sturges, nuzzling into his side to hide her embarassment, even from her close friend, and decided to get even.

"So, how were things with Emmett last night?" she winked. If the ghoul could have blushed, he would have. His expression was like a bird who had just eaten the canary, and it helped clear Veronica of her own feelings of embarassment. Hancock slid his palm across his head and cleared his throat, obviously struggling to find the right answer. Fortunately, Sturges saved him.

"Sorry about yesterday, Hancock. I got a little hot headed, I guess. I- uh- I get where you're coming from now," he apologized. Hancock gave a small, forgiving smile and strode over to shake the man's had. "No harm, no foul, brother," he crooned.

The three fell into a comfortable silence as the two lovebirds sipped their coffee and Hancock spun his knife between his fingers, a nervous habit. He watched as Veronica leaned over and rested her head on Sturges' broad shoulder. Both bore worried, pained looks, anticipating the day's events. Sturges reached a hand over and eclipsed hers in his. Hancock's heart sank to see her so upset.

"Sunshine," he murmured, kneeling in front of the duo, and placing his hand on the stack, "My eyes may not be so good anymore, but I know love when I see it. I don't know what you're gonna learn today, but I think you kids are gonna be okay. And if not, Sturges, you know where to find me." The ghoul winked, sending a red flush to cover Sturges from head to toe, and stood, cracking his joints. As he sauntered out the door, he turned back for one last reassurance. "Seriously. You two'll be just fine."

As the door shut, a nervous silence fell and the two finished their coffee. So many unsaid things were spoken. _I love you. Please don't leave. Please don't run. I need you. I have no idea what I'd do without you. I'm scared._

After their coffees were finished and the mugs were set to the side, Sturges took in a deep breath and let it out with a shaky resolve. Standing, he reached a hand towards Veronica, who took it readily, and the two wordlessly made their way out of the room, up the stairs, and to the Memory Den, looks of doomed fate lining their faces.

* * *

 

"Sturges. Veronica. Please sit," Amari ordered kindly, indicating two chairs. Veronica shouldn't have been surprised that Hancock had already given her a head's up to their visit. They both sat in the uncomfortable chairs, and Veronica watched Sturges' eyes widen with anxiety as he looked at the machines in the room.

"I've been informed, Sturges, that you wish to see your previously wiped memories. Is that correct?" she asked in her professional tone. Sturges broke his visual exploration of the room and looked into her clinical, but comforting eyes. "Yes, ma'am," he gulped.

"Since the fall of the Institute, my team and I have discovered that synth memories are not completely erased, as they are in humans. One of the deceased synths we have dissected has shown that the synthetic component is actually a small memory drive, and it is attached to the prefrontal cortex. As memories are created, they are secondarily stored on the component. From what our findings into journals and logs have shown, this was done so that memories could be recovered in the case of death," she explained. Both Sturges and Veronica stared at her, hungrily taking in every word, not even noticing the fourth party that had come in the door and propped themselves in the corner of the room.

Amari nodded to the individual and continued, "When we use our processes here to erase memories, it only works on a biological level, affecting the prefrontal cortex. This means that the synthetic component is still in tact. Now, we have been working to find ways to access the memories on the component, and have devised a theory that has worked in small trials, but we'll need your help."

Sturges looked worried, but spoke up quickly. "Honestly, Doctor, anything at all. Just let us know." He clutched Veronica's hand in his.

Amari took a breath before continuing. "You'll need to create a memory, either very pleasant or very devastating, just as the person in question goes under in the chair. This way their prefrontal cortex is activated, and our machines can follow the transition of the memory from the brain to the harddrive. Of course, we're working with limited supplies and space here, so often it's difficult to come up with something that would create a strong memory. We've also found that negative memories work better, although they can create some depressed mood in subjects while they're under, risking their safety."

The room fell into a stunned silence as each person desperately tried to think of something that could create the needed stimulus. Veronica immediately thought of a passionate kiss, but blushed at the idea of doing that in front of Amari. She also worried that by now, it was commonplace. Sturges knew the most painful thing would be if Veronica told him she'd leave him, but he worried he'd know it was fake. It was the only viable idea, though.

He turned somberly to the side. "Roni, Angel," he murmured, "Leave me. Leave me so I can't hurt you." He reached up and cupped her face in his palm as she leaned into it, tears twinkling in her eyes.

"I can't do that," she whispered desperately.

"Please, I can't live without you, but I also can't live without the truth," he pleaded. Veronica's tears started to flow down her face, coating his fingers. She had no idea how she could possibly convince herself to leave him. Faking it wouldn't work, and she couldn't find a reason to leave this man she loved so much.

That's when the shadowy figure broke from the shadows, donned in his familiar sunglasses and black wig. He leaned close to Veronica's ear and started to whisper, so quietly that even Amari and Sturges couldn't hear from their close proximity. They watched as Veronica's face when from confusion, to recognition, to shock, to anger, and to depression. Her face visibly crumbled and the eyes she looked at Sturges with because confused and angry. Her body shook as she tried to come to terms with what was said to her.

"Deacon," she stammered, "Are you sure it was him?" Deacon somberly nodded, causing Veronica to erupt with tears, shudders wracking her body. She pushed out of her seat, letting Sturges' hand fall, and turned to allow herself to be embraced in her partner's waiting arms. Deacon wrapped his arms around her and let her cry into his shoulder, giving Sturges' a hateful, condemning look, even through the opacity of his sunglasses. Sturges met it with an understanding, grim look, like a man walking to his death.

"Strap me up, doctor. Looks like I'm ready to go," he requested dolefully. Amari pointed to the large chair and Sturges maneuvered himself in. Quickly, she and an assistant strapped him, attaching leads to his wrists to monitor his vitals and putting sensors on his forehead to read the memories. A television was set up to cast his memories to the room. As the assistant pushed down tucked a blanket around Sturges, Amari looked towards Deacon and Veronica.

"Ma'am, he's falling asleep. You'll need to make a move while he's conscious."

Deacon looked down at Veronica as she turned to face Sturges, whose eyes were drooping from the mild sedative. "Sturges, I- we- we can't-" She was struggling with her emotions, but time was running out as Sturges' eyelids drifted closer together. Just as she was about to fall asleep entirely, Deacon twisted her around, eyes dark, and before she could protest, leaned in, and kissed her passionately. In her emotional state, Veronica was bound to instinct. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair, and pressing back against him, seeking any kind of comfort he was willing to give.

Deacon watched over the top of his sunglasses as Sturges' eyes suddenly went wide with betrayal before snapping shut, shutting them out, as the television screen began to crackle.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it's been so long! I've gotten a full-time job since my last chapter, which has been amazing, but obviously leaves little time to write.

_A primordial black clouded his vision, something the adult conscious mind has never seen in life.  It was a darkness only know to eyes that have never perceived photons of light.  There was a flutter, a spastic hammering in his chest, until his heart, freshly pieced together, started to beat at a normal rhythm.  Nerves in his ears tingled at the new sensation of blood rushing through fabricated arteries and veins.  Everything was overwhelming, and he felt a sensation, like his throat was going to explode, until instinct kicked in, and he opened his mouth, taking in a large swallow of cold aseptic air, the first his fresh lungs had tasted.  Something in his newly-wired neurons took over and breathing resumed without thought.  Before he could question who or_ what _he was, voices were heard in the periphery of his sphere of existence._

_"Sir, we have confirmation that all biological processes are online.  The subject is currently structuring their consciousness, and should be fully operational in four minutes," an airy, female voice stated nonchalantly, as if reading the time off of a watch, and not watching the beginnings of another artificial birth._

_"Good, good," a male voice rumbled, "Has the system set a designation yet?"  A few clicking sounds could be heard, the typing on a keyboard, accompanied by indecipherable muttering, punctuated by a contented hum._

_"Looks like this is X9-78," the female voice answered.  The male voice let out a sound of... what was that?... surprise?_

_"A courser.  Not sure why I'm surprised.  He certainly has the ideal build.  Let's just hope he has the mental capacity.  The SRB has had a significant decrease in retention with the latest incoming coursers.  Any details on where he was picked up?"_

_A few more purposeful clicks filled the room._

_"Not a whole lot of information on this one.  Looks like the crew picked him up far South of Quincy, almost beyond our scouting area.  His file says he was living alone in an abandoned cabin inside a heavily wooded area.  Reports of various mechanical projects underway.  Surprised we didn't put the guy in Facilities."  The male voice let out a chuckle._

_"_ We _don't put them anywhere.  Something in his genetic sequencing signaled to our algorithm that he was fit for Courser's work."  He paused and cleared his throat.  "Now, then, he should be waking in several minutes.  Warren, make sure to go through the orientation program with him and then bring him down to Hawk to get him settled for training starting tomorrow."  Heavy footsteps receded until they were impossible to hear.  In their absence, lighter footsteps sounded, getting slightly louder.  A jolt like electricity coursed through him and his eyes snapped open.  For a few, brief, unsettling moments, the world was a terrifying swirl of unknown lights, colors, and shapes.  His heart began to race as his new mind and new eyes tried to work in tandem to make sense of it all, but without a reference, it felt impossible.  He opened his mouth to try and scream, but his throat and mouth were dry._

_"Ssssh, hey now," the female voice cooed.  His mind started to piece together that the blur of white, beige, and brown before him must be where the voice was emanating from.  Something about her manner calmed him, and his heart braked to its even rhythm.  Again, he tried to speak, but it proved impossible._

_"Yeah, that's normal," she said, "Voice systems are usually the last to upload.  Gives me a chance to get through orientation, I guess."  Something in her tone suggested humor, but X9 couldn't figure out what was so humorous.  His eyes were adjusted, and his brain started to give words to objects.  Room, computer, chair, woman._

_"C'mon, we have some things to go over to get you caught up with life before you start your training.  Follow me."  X9 took a second to comprehend the directions, and was surprised to feel a twinge in his legs.  He was surprised to see that without thinking, they had starting bending and flexing, transporting his brand-new body behind the female.  They walked for several paces before she abruptly stopped and turned around, extending her hand.  "By the way, I'm Dr. Warren.  I'm going to be ensuring that the production process went smoothly, and complete your processing so that you can start your work assignment."  He stared at her blankly, holes in his understanding where knowledge was missing.  She seemed to understand, and her face softened.  "Just follow me, and you'll be alright.  Oh, and uh, happy birthday."_

* * *

 

_"AGAIN!" the voice bellowed.  Ten trainees, all dressed in black jumpsuits, faced their partner and assumed a fighting stance.  A man paced the row of pairs, assessing the crew with cold, nearly onyx eyes.  His face, much like the rest of his body, was hard, as if it was chiseled out of dark granite._ _"You are_ soldiers _.  It's time to act like it.  Out there," he pointed overhead, "There's no room for mercy.  Everyone you encounter, from residents to escaped synths, wants to destroy our work.  They are a threat that needs to be eliminated."  All ten trainees attempted to keep their required emotionless air, although more than a few were tired of the endless patriotic speeches._

_"And you can know how to eliminate a threat, if you've never done so before."  With that sentence, the air went from annoyance to confusion.  X9 slightly dropped his stance and looked around at the others, who were mirroring his dropped guard and dazed expression.  Hawk, watching the group, stepped over to a terminal in the large training room and began typing.  After a few lines, he looked up and surveyed the group, who surveyed him back with intense interest._

_Suddenly, X9 felt a jerk go up his spine and he stood up straight, held tight in an unconscious paralysis.  A voice whispered at the back of his mind.  It wasn't his own voice, but for some reason, it sounded like a voice he needed to trust.  It was calm, collected, and spoke with an air of absolute truth.  In his position, he was able to see his partner across from him, a smaller male synth, X2-99, staring back with the same straight posture and perceptive look._

_"We have reviewed several points of data and surveillance, and have found X2-99 to be in violation of espionage against the Institute, with plans to bring in Outsiders with the intent of sabotage."_ No, that can't be,  _he thought_ , this has to be some kind of test.

_"Don't you remember when he was absent from the bunk room four nights ago?"  He did remember.  He had woken up in the middle of the night, only to notice that the bunk two rows down was empty.  X9 had been suspicious, but had chalked it up to nothing with no evidence._

_Suddenly, a vision passed before his eyes, as if a screen was projecting from his mind.  It showed X2-99 slinking through the dark of the Institute halls before reaching the door of the reactor room.  It felt like hours passed, although it had merely been minutes in the present time, when the door opened and X2-99 popped out, clothes covered in dirt, something completely foreign to the Institute.  The vision stopped and X9 could see his mate across from him with an innocent expression like only the guilty can bear._

_"This is your chance to save the Institute, X9-78.  Our intelligence says that he has gathered a small militia of 250 Outsiders.  They will destroy our work, our lives, and our legacy."  A rage filled X9 like he had never felt since his inception.  His body shook at the idea of someone he trusted, that they all trusted, attempting to wipe them out.  X2-99 was a threat that needed to be eliminated.  Hands twitched into fists, ready to strike.  Powerful arms were ready to destroy.  Finally, with a shock, the paralysis ended, and X9 realized his partner was staring at him with a venom that was unwarranted.  The synth probably knew he had been caught, but Hawk was watching, and X9 knew it was his time to prove his value to the Institute._

_All at once, the room erupted into primal screams.  Each pair clashed at each other.  X9 ran forward as X2 hurled toward him.  The smaller synth tried to throw a punch, but X9 managed to catch his wrist and twist it, almost effortlessly, until the obvious crack of bone filled the room.  X2 erupted into screams, panic flooding his face, as he tried to claw at X9's face with his remaining hand.  It was too late.  X9 was too much taller, too much stronger.  X9 wrapped his large hand in his victim's shirt, lifted him off the floor, and brought him eye-to-eye._

_"You are a threat.  You must be eliminated," X9 spat, almost serenely, before tossing X2 backwards.  His back hit the floor with the skull smacking against the hard surface with a crack.  Taking a step forward, X9 knelt down over his opponent, who was now crying and begging for mercy, trying in vain to shield himself with his hands._

_"P-p-please.  Don't kill me.  I'll do anything," he cried.  For a second, something in X9 spurred.  Something told him that this wasn't the humane thing to do.  Something told him that there was something wrong here, something not accurate.  That small voice was fizzled out by the vision of X2 bringing in a legion of murderous outsiders, betraying those who put their trust in him._

_X9 wrapped his hand around X2's slender throat, with a hand so large it nearly wrapped around.  Slowly, he squeezed, wanting to watch the life drain from the traitor's eyes.  X2 resisted, slapping and clawing weakly with his uninjured arm, but it was fruitless.  His gasps became sobs of defeat.  Everything in him gave one last fight to get away and to breathe.  His breaths began to sputter and X9 kept steady with a watchful eye.  The resistance slowed, and the breaths became shallow, the instinctive actions of a man already transitioning to death.  Finally, with one last shuddering exhale, X2's body fell limp, and his eyes dulled with lack of life.  X9 stood, feeling triumph, even in the face of dead._

_He stood, looking around him.  Five victors stood over five dead.  Some were covered in blood.  Others were bruised.  All had the look of victory, as if they all had fulfilled their true purpose as a Courser.  Hawk looked on with unimpressed eyes, arms folded across his broad chest.  Several breaths passed as they watched him in anticipation, waiting for his praise and adoration.  Finally, he shifted his hands to his hips and looked each trainee in the eye._

_"You all believe that you have an eliminated a threat to the Institute,"  he started.  X9's dark brows furrowed._ Believe?  He had, hadn't he?

_"This was a test, but you haven't passed... yet."  The group let in a collective inhale, as they waited for the inevitable ball to drop.  Hadn't this been their life since training had started?_

_"Truth is, all of you were manipulated to see manufactured information.  None of you were believed to be traitors of the Institute, and the person you just eliminated was one of your own, and he was innocent."  Silence fell over the room as each trainee processed this information.  While no words were said, a range of emotions could be seen written on the five faces.  Rage, fear, self-loathing.  As for X9, he couldn't find a name to describe the emotion he was feeling.  Part of him was ashamed at the lack of restrained and reasoned thought that he knew he had been programmed for.  The other part, however, and it was no small part, fell powerful in the fact that he had the ability to manufacture death with his own two hands._

_"An Institute Courser does not have the time for emotion.  That takes away from your mission._ Our _mission.  Statistics show that one of you will be unable to live with the guilt of what you've committed today.  Your final test is to arrive to training tomorrow."  The group looked around, each sizing up their own emotional fortitude against that of their peers.  Some looked worried, others looked confident._

_"You're dismissed."_


	23. Chapter 23

_Days of training turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months.  As the time slowly rolled, the artificial hearts of the slowly-dwindling group started to harden like the stone they were buried miles beneath.  Layers of frigid flint, swirls of somber shale, and flecks of unemotional bauxite came together to create a calm surface under which a constant, roiling flow of violent rage remained.  What had started as a squadron of twelve had dwindled to three.  Seven had watched with nearly lifeless eyes as those they once called comrade squeezed, tore, or shot the spirit from their created physical forms.  Another two had been lost as a result of their own self-loathing over the actions enforced by the training regimen.  It was a dehumanizing experience, that stripped their synthetic shells of whatever remaining human personality that had been written in the genetic material.  Why the Institute didn't just create their militia from test tubes, nobody ever knew, but nobody ever questioned it, either._

_X9 laid in his bunk, wrapped in it's crisp white linen, staring at the immaculate, brilliantly lit ceiling overhead, pondering the past few months.  Part of him wondered who he would be if he had stepped off of the creation pod and into another department.  Would he feel so empty if his trade had been in BioScience?  Would he question the emotional black hole that seemed to take over his mind if he had been placed into Robotics?  The other part of him was logical enough to realize that he would never know the answer to these questions, and that to even ponder them took bandwidth from his mind that could be used for more useful purposes._

_At his feet, a black garment lay folded at his feet.  "This is the end of the road.  You've passed the Synth Retention Bureau's requirements for Coursers."  The rough voice, as if hewn from limestone, echoed through X9's head.  "Starting tomorrow, you will be assigned to cases of traitorous synths."  There had been no further explanation.  No true celebration.  A simple statement of fact, and the promise of a grueling career, to be completed by those who rarely tired.  It was supposed to bring him pride, if he had any emotions left to feel.  Instead, he felt hollow.  Hawk's voice echoed from his head and down his neck until it swelled, filling his chest with a twinge of doubt.  An indicator light in the room blinked several times, a dark navy blue, before changing to a light, azure blue.  Regardless of a lack of sun for evidence, a new day for the Institute had begun._

_With a grace surprising for his large build, he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and stood up.  X9 unzipped the standard issue white and orange sleepwear and let it hit the floor in a crumpled heat.  The chill air brushed against his exposed, unblemished skin, causing a crop of goosebumps to mar his body.  Even though he had been living underground in this body since it was brought into existence, it seemed that something in his DNA desired heat and craved sunlight.  Slowly, he unfolded the large black garment, a leather and metal version of the lab coats many of the other Institute members wore.  Shaking off his doubts, X9 stepped into the garment, zipping and buckling, until the suit encapsulated him like a second skin.  On the dresser sat a pair of matching gloves, and a pair of sunglasses.  With the uniform instilling a small boost of confidence, he snatched the accessories and placed them on.  A mirror was hung on the wall by the door, and X9 examined himself thoroughly.  Over six feet in height, and nearly three-hundred pounds of muscle trimmed in an assassin's cloak, with the cover of a spy.  Whatever doubt he had, staring at the ceiling, was now gone with the visage before him.  It was as if this assignment was made for him, not the other way around.  The job of Courser was a block of marble that he, the artist, had created for himself through training, and just like art, there were no rules - just blind intuition.  Adjusting his sunglasses, X9 strode out the door, ready to paint the canvas of the Commonwealth with the blood of those willing to defy the Institute._

_As he walked down the long corridor, lined with identical doors to identical bunk units, several synths stepped aside, allowing him to pass, tipping their heads in respect.  His visage brought fear into hearts, even those that were on his side.  Something about that drove the nail into doubt's coffin as he continued his swagger around a corner, down a few steps, and into the small room where assignments were given.  Already present were the other two brand new Courser's, donning identical uniforms, as well as the same look of emotionless confidence on their faces.  Each greeted each other with a blank stare that spoke volumes, and silence filled the space until Hawk's heavy footsteps tramped down the corridor outside the small office.  X9 and another synth stepped aside to allow his board frame to pass through, and watched patiently as Hawk turned around and surveyed the three with a look of unreadable judgement.  He was checking his handiwork one last time before sending it off into the world above._

_Finally, he broke the silence.  "Today will be your first time in the Commonwealth.  Remember your training, and remember, you wouldn't be standing here now if you couldn't handle what's up there."  The three Coursers stood stiffly, acknowledging his words with a curt nod.  "Now," Hawk continued, "Weapons and ammunition are available at the armory.  No rules on this one, use whatever you're comfortable with."  X9 enjoyed close up combat, the warmth of exerting body heat, the physical prowess he was able to exhibit, and the scent of adrenaline in his opponent's sweat.  All he needed was a dependable blade to ensure he eliminated the threat completely._

_"Once you receive your orders and have arranged your weaponry, you will be able to access the Commonwealth via your relay.  Just visualize your code that you were taught in training and the processor will execute the code, and you will be transported to an appropriate location.  Our operators have chosen a location that is an excellent vantage point for your mission.  Remember that."  Afterwards, Hawk addressed the female Courser, outlining her mission.  She was to arrive outside of a small collection of homes on the Southern tip of the Commonwealth.  A synth had gone missing nearly six months ago, and had been unable to be located until they had received an anonymous tip from an unknown source.  The synth in question had been spotted in a band of traders, and their last known location had been slightly North of the relay point.  The assignment was the bring back the synth alive at all costs; however, all other threats should be neutralized for the good of the Institute.  As soon as the information had been dispensed, she nodded to affirm she had heard completely and strode out of the room without a question._

_Next, Hawk addressed the two remaining Coursers, X9 and X4-28.  To be truthful, X9 was surprised the other synth had made it through the program.  While their bodies were merely months old, the other synth had the appearance and personality of a much younger man, a teenager even.  As far as physical attributes, he wasn't nearly as tall as the other Coursers, and was extremely thin, lacking muscle mass even after months of extreme physical training.  His shock of red hair and smattering of taupe freckles clashed with his frozen, unfeeling green eyes.  X4 had gotten through the training on emotional strength and mental prowess.  While X9 was able to tackle anyone in his way, X4 was able to pick up subtle body movements and cues, and used this to take advantage of his enemy's weaknesses.  They had once sparred together, and as X9 attempted to crash his fist into the smaller man's jaw, the other had ducked, just in time, and swept around with his arm, knocking X9 behind the knees.  As he crashed to the ground, X4 swept over him, fist poised to return the punch.  X9 had used his strength to push the smaller man off, and the physical back and forth continued until Hawk finally forced them call a truce._

_"We don't do this often," Hawk explained to the waiting Coursers, "But we'll be sending you on assignment together."  X9 and X4 looked at each other and nodded in consent.  "We have a synth who has been gone for several years.  Every piece of our intel we have on her seems to come from different sources, but the information is always similar in nature.  A source tips that a woman by the name of Jane D has been spotted near a church with the same description as a missing synth, C6-23.  Each time, our Coursers come back empty handed, stating they saw her for a fleeting moment, but when they looked again, she was gone.  After some research, we believe whoever it is, may be using military-grade cloaking devices to deceive our Coursers.  This is why we're sending two of you.  You're not to return until C6-23 is in your possession, dead or alive."  Again, the two nodded in consent._

_"Sir, how do we know this time will be any different than previous encounters?" X9 asked._

_Hawk smirked with a smug confidence.  "It's different this time.  One of our Gen 1 synths was found destroyed outside of an old settlement called Jamaica Plains.  The remaining parts were returned here, and we investigated the data from their optical sensors, and we got lucky."  The proud man paused for effect.  "The synth had passed by a small farm, which we believe to be just northwest of the settlement.  The shot showed someone that looks an awful lot like C6-23, farming land with a man, who we were unable to identify as a synth.  It was the man that noticed our Gen 1 and chased him down until destroying him at Jamaica Plains.  Trust me, we got lucky this time, but it's been a long time comin'."_

_X9 shifted slightly.  While the Institute hated to lose_  any _of their synths, usually chases were ended after two months, with the assumption that the synth in question was dead.  So far, the data had proven this assumption to be true.  "What makes C6-23 different?" X9 asked._

_Hawk's eyes glittered, clearly waiting for such a question.  "Knew you'd ask that.  C6-23 belonged to a special operation, know as Gamma Four.  The operations of that specific group are classified, even to Coursers, but we have been informed by Father that the information that she potentially possesses could end the Institute if it got into the wrong hands, particularly the hands of anyone in the Commonwealth."  Again, he paused, looking each Courser in the eye.  They each stared back with determination.  "Is that clear?"_

_"Yes, sir" the two stated in unison.  Hawk saluted them, signalling the end of the conversation.  Without a word, they turned and left the room, heading for the armory.  Within the span of an hour, they were both equipped with weapons of their choice.  X9 had found a blade that suited him, it's handle ivory, and it's blade's tip as thin as a hair.  X4, by contrast, had chosen a large sniper rifle, which he slung around his back, the black of the gun nearly blending into the uniform.  They stood together outside the armory and as if by an unspoken agreement, focused on the memorized code.  Inside their synthetic brains, the embedded synth component whirred, reading through the lines of code, inserting information from the Institute's network on locations and assignments._

_Suddenly, X9's world went dark.  Sound filled around him, like the rushing of air or the thrumming of blood through veins.  It was deafening and disorienting, but exhilarating.  His head spun, and his sense of direction was lost.  There was no down or up.  There was no north, south, east, or west.  It was as if he existed in the tumultuous breach between time and space.  As quickly as it started, however, it ended.  Beyond his closed eyelids, a light strained to reach his eyes, and a heat threatened to seep through his clothes._

_He had reached the Commonwealth._


End file.
